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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29020830">You are too well tangled in my soul</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samtree/pseuds/Samtree'>Samtree</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dark Bird [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - The Time Traveler's Wife Fusion, Chronic Pain, Developing Relationship, Fade to Black, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Love Confession, M/M, Panic Attacks, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Time Travel, canon-typical chronological sense, now with beta</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 13:53:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>26,320</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29020830</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samtree/pseuds/Samtree</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Julian is eleven years old when the mysterious time traveler shows up for the first time. The man is tall. Really tall. And wide in the shoulders. He has light grey hair—almost silver in the fading sunlight. And his eyes. Oh, his eyes are a golden yellow. A witcher.</em>
</p><p>Inspired by The Time Traveler's Wife. Geralt and Jaskier find themselves entangled across time. They grow together in a slightly different order.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dark Bird [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2226117</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>63</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>270</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Inspired by The Time Traveler's Wife.</p><p>Edit: now with beta!! A big thanks to the amazing <a href="https://221birl1823.tumblr.com/">@221birl1823</a> for reading through this story for me!</p>
    </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The first chapter contains non-graphic depictions of child abuse and a brief panic attack.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Julian is eleven years old when it happens for the first time.</p><p>There’s a lake half a mile from the Lettenhove estate, where Julian lives. On sunny days, the water is often crystalline clear and surrounded by long stretches of meadow. Here, the local flora grows without disturbance, peppering the greenery with vibrant blossoms every spring. A forest of birch trees borders the grass, casting shade—cool and long—on a hot day.</p><p>Julian runs from the estate with urgency, not stopping until he reaches the lakeshore. He often comes here after Father gives him a harsh dressing down, and he just needs somewhere to breathe. When Father starts recounting how much of a disappointment Julian is, it’s best not to defend himself or talk back, or the cane might be brought out. Julian has learned that lesson the hard way.</p><p>So, today, he had taken in all the harsh words without making a sound, and ran to the lake immediately afterwards, passing servants who pretended not to see the tears running down his cheeks.</p><p>They’ve dried by the time he reaches the water and slumps down on the soft grass. The angry words still ring through memory, knotting up something painful in his stomach. Julian brings out his notebook filled with poems and scribbled verses.</p><p>Propped up on his elbows, Julian writes heartless rhymes in his notes, finding solace in the familiar motion, and if the warm sun begins to set and the frigid dampness creeps in, he doesn’t notice.</p><p>That’s when it happens.</p><p>He must have fallen asleep at some point because he opens his eyes to a darkening sky and a stinging coldness in his bones. The hair at the back of his neck stands on end as if he’s being watched. Julian looks back and yelps, scrambling back from the man a few yards away.</p><p>The man is tall. Really tall. And wide in the shoulders. He has light grey hair—almost silver in the fading sunlight. And his eyes. Oh, his eyes are a golden yellow. <em>A witcher</em>.</p><p>“Hey, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.” He raises his hands and kneels, as if it’ll make him look smaller. “Don’t be scared.” His tone is soft, despite how deep and hoarse it is.</p><p>Julian backs to the edge of the water. He’s read about witchers. His tutor says they’re merciless creatures who hunt monsters because they have no emotions. His parents say they grow devil horns and eat babies. Amongst everything, Julian also knows that witchers are stronger than ten men combined, knows they could break him in half before he could blink.</p><p>But the witcher in front of him doesn’t have horns, nor is he trying to eat him. Instead, he looks almost…timid? Like <em>he</em> is scared of Julian’s reaction.</p><p>The golden eyes hold a concern that Julian doesn’t understand. The witcher retreats further, appearing even less threatening.</p><p>“Jaskier, <em>please</em>. Don’t be scared. I would never hurt you.”</p><p>The drowsiness of sleep is now completely gone. Julian stares at him with, eyes alert. Jaskier. <em>Buttercup? What a ridiculous name. Why is he calling me that?</em></p><p>“You’re a witcher. What do you want?”</p><p>There’s surprise in the witcher’s eyes, but he recovers quickly.</p><p>“Nothing.”</p><p>“Father says witchers eat children. Are you going to eat me?”</p><p>“No. We only hunt monsters.” He tilts his head slightly in amusement.</p><p>“Then why are you here?”</p><p>The witcher thinks for a second, resignation in his features. “I suppose we’ve never met before. My name is Geralt. Geralt of Rivia. I’m only here…by accident.”</p><p>Julian frowns. “Why did you call me… that name,” he pauses, “Geralt?”</p><p>The man in front of him chuckles. “I guess I shouldn’t have. Can you tell me your name?”</p><p><em>Jaskier</em>. <em>There’s a nice ring to it.</em></p><p>“My parents call me Julian.”</p><p>“Okay, Julian.” The witcher, no, Geralt reaches out his hand tentatively for a handshake. “Nice to meet you. Now, what are you doing by yourself in the middle of nowhere?”</p><p>Despite the stories he has heard, Julian is, strangely, not scared of the man sitting cross-legged in the grass, trying to appear as friendly as possible despite his bulk. But he is not going to shake his hand either.</p><p>“I’m reading. It’s poetry. I’m writing my own too.”</p><p>The witcher’s yellow eyes crinkle. His hand drops. “What kind of poetry? Can you tell me?”</p><p>So, Julian tells him. He tells him about the poets he’s reading about and how brilliant their verses are. The more he speaks, the less nervous he becomes. The witcher listens intently, seemingly interested in meters and rhymes and occasionally asking questions to prompt him to continue. No one at the estate is willing to hear about poetry, so Julian is glad for the opportunity to share all his thoughts.</p><p>By the end of his rambling, the man has a soft look on his face, as if remembering something fond.</p><p>Julian offers a smile of his own. “Everyone around me hates poetry. You’re the first person to listen to me.”</p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p>Just when he wants to say something else, Geralt looks away suddenly, his expression falling.</p><p>“I…I’m a time traveler,” he blurts.</p><p>Julian blinks. “Pardon me?”</p><p>“I-I am. I’m from the future. Decades from now. Please believe me.” There’s something bare, even vulnerable in the witcher’s pleading. “I can prove it. Thirteen days from now, I’ll come back here. The same spot. In the morning. You’ll see then.”</p><p>Being gobsmacked as he is, Julian stares at the man who calls himself Geralt, as he turns transparent and vanishes into thin air.</p><p>Julian blinks away the afterimage and realizes that he’s now sitting on the ground by himself.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>For thirteen days, he thought he imagined the whole thing.</p><p>There’s no way he met a time traveler. There’s no way he met a time traveling<em> witcher</em>! Julian thinks about the man daily, about the golden eyes, about the familiarity in his tone, the soft look in his eyes.</p><p>Julian knows nothing about this man, except for a name. <em>Geralt</em>. <em>Was he even real?</em></p><p>Writing the date on his notebook, Julian cannot help but look forward to the promised day, but at the same time, dreading it.</p><p>On the thirteenth morning, Julian rises early. He slips from the notice of staff and guards and goes straight towards the lake. After a few moments of standing alone with nothing but the sound of leaves rustling, he starts to feel kind of foolish. <em>Of course it wasn’t real. Father was right, he needs to stop daydreaming and focus on his future – </em></p><p>“I told you I would be here.”</p><p>Geralt’s deep voice comes from a distance, and Julian whips his head around. His own gobsmacked face must be quite a sight. The witcher’s white hair glistens under the bright morning sun.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The second time they meet, Geralt starts telling him about the life of witchers, about the Path, how they travel the Continent and kill monsters for a living.</p><p>It turns out, Geralt has just hunted down a Griffin right before he came here. Upon hearing the name of the monster, Julian immediately begins a series of questions of barely contained wonderment. After all, he has never left Lettenhove, let alone seen a real Griffin.</p><p>Geralt, while vague on the details, told him all about the slaying of it.</p><p>“It’s like it could be in a song,” Julian muses out loud. He is now sitting on the bank, feet dipped into the water, with the witcher next to him.</p><p>“And who will write it, you?”</p><p>“I could if I wanted. But, Geralt,” Julian has more important questions. “You are really a time traveler.”</p><p>“Yes, but I cannot control when or where I go.”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“It means-” Geralt looks away. “It means I’ll need your help. Julian. Keep a record of our meetings. Can you do that for me?”</p><p>Julian splashes the water, the ripples disturbing the calm surface.</p><p>“If I do, will you come back?”</p><p>“I will, I promise.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Before Geralt disappears into nothingness again, he has revealed their next meeting time. The wait will be a lot longer, but this time Julian holds a sureness in his heart, like something is settling into place.</p><p>The days with the tutor are still long. As he listens on and on about politics and economics, Julian’s mind drifts to the monster hunt Geralt told him about. Even though Geralt’s storytelling was simple and to the point, the excitement of it still blooms in Julian’s mind. The thrill of adventure sizzles in his dreams. Julian cannot resist going through it over and over, trying to reimagine it with more dramaticism with twists and turns in between. After all, that’s how stories are told in the acts of plays.</p><p>“Who tells stories?” Julian interrupts the tutor.</p><p>“Why, Master Julian, do you want to hear some?”</p><p>“No, I want to tell stories. Who tells stories for a living?”</p><p>The tutor indulges him, “That might be the job of writers. They write them down into books so many people will read them. Or maybe actors, they perform a story so you can see it. Sometimes traveling bards will sing stories across the continent-”</p><p>Julian’s ears perk up. He has seen a bard at their own court, who had a lovely voice and commanded the whole room with chirpy songs and dances.</p><p>“That’s what I will be. I will be a traveling bard when I grow up. I will tell the most exciting adventures to everyone in the world!”</p><p>The tutor seems nonplussed. “No, Master Julian. You are too noble to be a bard singing lowly songs in taverns and town squares. You are the heir to your father, and you will become a lord. That is why you need to learn the things I’m teaching you now…”</p><p>Head drooping down, Julian turns back to the lessons with reluctance, but the scene stays on his mind, of himself singing adventures of heroics and heartbreak, of everyone’s eyes on him with adoration.</p><p>That’s something he can love doing.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>As unlikely as his friendship with Geralt is, Julian is grateful for it. His life in the endlessly big mansion doesn’t feel so lonely when he knows a friend will be waiting just where he promised to be.</p><p>Every once in a few months, sometimes longer, he waits by the lake for the golden-eyed Witcher to show up. They talk about Julian’s history lessons, his new passion for music, or even just his day at the estate. Well, mostly Julian goes on and on, and Geralt listens with hums in between.</p><p>And Geralt, albeit needing some nudging, recounts his life as a witcher, about monsters and travels. The things he’s seen put such longing in Julian’s heart. <em>One day, I will go to these places and see for myself.</em></p><p>But sometimes, not everything about being a witcher is all thrill and glory. Geralt absent-mindedly mentions how he couldn’t stay at the town where he had finished a hunt and was forced to travel on, only to meet a fae in the forest.</p><p>“Why couldn’t you stay?” Julian does not understand.</p><p>Geralt hesitates, a somber look settles in his expression.</p><p>“They…” Now he looks quite pained. “Remember what your parents told you about witchers? There are a lot of people. They - they believe things that aren’t true about us. They didn’t let me stay because they were scared. Of me hurting them.”</p><p>Julian looks into the amber eyes, now with a hint of vulnerability in them. In terms of who is hurting whom, it might just be the other way around.</p><p>“I don’t think you will hurt anyone.”</p><p>A forced smile appears at the corner of Geralt’s lips.</p><p>“I wish I could change how they see you,” Julian mutters to himself.</p><p>Geralt must have heard it but does not reply.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Years pass. Geralt becomes a constant in Julian’s life. He looks forward to their secretive meetings and bears the days in between.</p><p>The Geralt appearing beside the lake changes, often drastically. His white hair varies in length and style, and the same armors that are worn out will turn brand new upon the next meeting. Occasionally Julian cannot find the familiar faded scars on his face. There are even times when Geralt doesn’t know when he’s going to be back next, and times when he uses that name again. <em>Jaskier</em>. Julian needs to correct him on such occasions, and he looks almost embarrassed about the slip.</p><p>All those timely encounters are religiously recorded in Julian’s notebooks. He writes down everything about the man, from his clothes to his scars, to the things they talked about. He also keeps track of the length of each stay, just so it might be helpful.</p><p>Every time, the amber eyes carry the same warmth when he appears, and the same hope upon vanishing before Julian’s eyes. Though it seems he is powerless against the pulling force dragging him away, he always senses it moments before and says his goodbye.</p><p>Julian is curious as to the hows and whys of this obvious superpower of the witcher, but the witcher is also none the wiser.</p><p>“I never understood it myself. It’s a pulling force that I cannot control or predict. It tends to bring me to a certain…place, like an anchor. I can only sense it moments before it happens but cannot stop it.”</p><p>All your life spent knowing something might sweep you away but powerless to stop it. Getting dumped wherever and <em>whenever</em> destiny fancies.</p><p>“It must be tough.”</p><p>Geralt hesitates, “It gets easier after a while. You ride along with the wave, not against it. The places I end up are usually not…unpleasant.”</p><p>Julian looks around the lake and the woods. It must be Geralt’s anchor then. He keeps getting dragged to an anonymous lake in Lettenhove. Can’t be the worst place on earth. Plus, it means Julian can always find a friend out here, even though only at the hour destiny chooses.</p><p>“There must be an upside to it. At least you can see your own future?” Julian muses, “Do you know mine? You must have seen it. Do I get to be a bard? Am I good?”</p><p>“I can’t tell you. Time traveling is tricky. It might change things.”</p><p>“So you do know my future.” Julian perks up. “Please, Geralt!”</p><p>“No. That’s the rule.”</p><p>“There are rules? What, is there a <em>Grand Council </em>for all the time travelers where they decide them? Like, I don't know, don't murder your own grandfather?”</p><p>Geralt chuckles, “No, I just have my own rule.”</p><p>Julian sags, he knows when Geralt is determined to be tight-lipped, there is no way he can pry it out of him. The white-haired man in front of him holds information that Julian may not know for ages to come, and yet a sense of resignation settles. Geralt has become the most constant, reliable part of his life in Lettenhove. He always shows up the day he promises, and those days are what moves Julian forward in between.</p><p>If he trusts the witcher will come back to him, Julian can wait to see his future for himself. He doesn’t need a preview. Despite what the tutor says, Julian can be quite patient.</p><p>In a way, Geralt has become the anchor for Julian himself.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>One afternoon, Julian notices dark circles under Geralt’s eyes, and how tired and disheveled he appears. “It’s a little hard to get by when winter is near, Julian. Don’t worry.”</p><p>Of course he’s going to worry about his friend, as he says so out loud. Julian does not want to see the witcher starved and exhausted, so he runs back to the kitchen and sneaks out some food. Luckily, by the time he returns, Geralt is still there, sitting on the grass by the water. They share a makeshift picnic of dried meat and fruits under the afternoon sun. Seeing the witcher swallowing down food with content makes Julian almost giddy. He’s almost proud to have taken care of a witcher in his own way.</p><p>Sometimes, Geralt will care for him.</p><p>Julian has turned fourteen. He’s learned everything about poetry and songs from the local tutor. He knows that, if he wants to pursue a career as a bard, as a musician, he has to learn from someone better, <em>better than what Lettenhove can offer</em>. Because if he is doing it, he has to become the best. The longing for success, <em>for respect</em>, gnaws at him day and night. Julian knows he needs to go the Oxenfurt, the best university out there, which is what he tells Father.</p><p>It doesn’t go over well, as expected. Father has always opposed his interests in music. A long speech about responsibilities as the Viscount ensues. Words like ‘disgrace’ and ‘shame of the family name’ are thrown around. When Julian stands his ground and insists on going away on his own, a switch is flicked like so many times before.</p><p>Later, Julian sits defeated under a tree near the water, nursing the bruises on his forearms. This time there is even broken skin, with specks of blood seeping out. He hunches his back against the coarse bark and lets the tears fall freely. Between the uncontrollable sobbing and hiccups, he almost doesn’t hear Geralt approach.</p><p>“Who did this to you?”</p><p>He whips up his head, wiping at the wetness with a hurry, not liking to be caught in this state. The witcher’s golden eyes are filled with shock, soon overcome by brimming fury. Combined with his large, imposing form now buzzing with energy, the terrifying legends about witchers’ immense powers are coming to Julian’s mind.</p><p>And yet, he knows the anger is not directed at him.</p><p>“It’s…my father.”</p><p>Geralt turns to make strides towards the estate.</p><p>“No! No, please.” Julian scrambles to catch up, stopping his angry march by cutting off in front of him, a hand resting on the witcher’s elbow. The gentle contact halts Geralt immediately. “It won’t help. And how do we explain it? There are no witchers in town. How do I explain knowing you?”</p><p>“I need to make sure he never does it again.” Geralt looks torn. The silence stretches out. He holds Julian’s arms to inspect the marks, “I hunt monsters for a living, Julian. I cannot stand by, especially when one is hurting you.”</p><p>“Just tell me this,” Julian sniffles, ignoring the implication, “Do I get to leave this place? You are from the future. Am I trapped here forever?”</p><p>“I shouldn’t tell you. It might affect-”</p><p>“I know the rule, but I just need to know. Please. I can’t stay in Lettenhove for the rest of my life.”</p><p>“Julian.”</p><p>“Please.” He chokes out a whimper.</p><p>Geralt finally relents, “Yes. You get to leave.” He guides Julian to sit on a patch of moss, taking a handkerchief from Julian’s pocket and dabbing at the broken skin. Julian flinches a little. “Sorry. You will…do the things you dream of. One day.”</p><p>He ties the cloth around the wound, not letting go of Julian’s arm. His thumb draws absent circles on the tightly wrapped fabric. “I know it seems far away, but you will get there.”</p><p>“I will?” The sobs subside under Julian’s breath. “And you know that because of your time traveling superpower?”</p><p>A thumb comes up to wipe the tears from Julian’s cheeks. “Yes. So believe me when I say you’ll be alright.”</p><p>Julian lets out a watery huff. If the witcher says so, he will believe it. Only that future is too distant, too out of reach.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Julian is counting the days recorded in his notebook when the witcher snaps into existence a few feet away from him, mumbling a cuss. The annoyance and frustration clear on his face. He doesn’t acknowledge Julian’s presence, only starts to pace in exasperation while pinching between his eyes. <em>Was he in the middle of something</em>, Julian thinks, <em>clearly he doesn’t want to be here.</em></p><p>In the warm glow of the setting sun, he notices a ring on Geralt’s left hand. It’s a simple silver band that rests on his ring finger. He blinks to make sure it is not a trick of the light.</p><p>“Wait, are you married?”</p><p>Geralt snaps his head towards Julian, expression softening when their eyes meet, and quickly covers the ring and stammers, “I-I am. Um…Yes. But I shan’t tell you anything about it.”</p><p>“Oh, but you must!” His overly excited voice pinches high, an uncomfortable knot forming in his stomach. To think of Geralt being married to someone roils up something ugly in him, so he tries to mask it. “Who is the lucky lady? What is she like?”</p><p>But shouldn’t Julian be happy for him? Yes, he should be glad the witcher has found someone. If anyone deserves happiness, it is this gentle witcher in front of him. So definitely, he is happy for Geralt. Nothing is churning in his chest with a possessiveness he is trying to push down.</p><p>“<em>He</em>.” Geralt stresses, “I am married to my husband.”</p><p>“Who is the lucky man then?”</p><p>A pause. “I’m not sure he is that lucky, to be with me.” The witcher looks down, as if in shame. No, <em>guilt</em>.</p><p>“Why wouldn’t he be?” Julian is confused. <em>Anyone should be lucky to be with Geralt.</em></p><p>Geralt closes his eyes and exhales. He stares into the distance with such sorrow, as if remembering a painful memory.</p><p>“He got hurt, because of me.”</p><p>“How do you mean?”</p><p>“He - There are people out there who want to hurt me. They know he is close to me. They know of our…bond, and they found him instead. I should have protected him.” Amber eyes bore into Julian’s, but the gravity behind them is inexplicable. There is a vulnerability that he’s never seen the Witcher wear. “I couldn’t. I’m the reason he got hurt. <em>Gets hurt</em>. Gods know how many times he's suffered because of me.”</p><p>
  <em>No.</em>
</p><p>Julian’s heart breaks. “It’s not your fault. I’m sure you did everything you could.” The platitude sounds flat, but the witcher chuckles.</p><p>“Of course you would say that.”</p><p>“Because I know it, Geralt. You are a good man. You are my best friend in the whole wide world.” Julian tries, “I’m sure he doesn’t blame you.”</p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p>A glimpse of the silver band flashes by Julian’s vision, his heart sinking once again. <em>Who is he to offer Geralt comfort?</em> <em>He has his own husband for that. </em>He picks at the half-bloomed dandelions by his crossed legs, seemingly interested in the wildflower. Geralt’s mirroring pose in front of him is stiff as a statue.</p><p>“He often gets hurt when he’s with me. Life with a witcher has its danger, but this time…it was bad.” He sounds haunted, “It took a long time for him to recover. He still hasn’t quite. And I should be with him right now.”</p><p>Julian stands up and turns away, the petals crushed between his fidgety fingers. “Of course. What are you doing in the middle of nowhere with me?” The bitterness is not hidden well. “You should go back to <em>him</em>.”</p><p>“Wait. Are you upset, Julian?”</p><p>“No!” He suddenly gets defensive. “That’s not – I’m not upset, at all – Why would I be? That’s <em>stupid</em>!” <em>Great</em>, now he does sound <em>stupid</em>.</p><p>“No?” A chuckle comes from the witcher. The heaviness is lifted from the air. “You’re right. Don’t be.”</p><p>Just when Julian is searching for a comeback without embarrassing himself even further, Geralt lets out a soft gasp. He must sense the pull to drag him away.</p><p>Julian kneels back down instantly, meeting the amber eyes.</p><p>“You are going back.” <em>To your husband.</em></p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Know this,” He can’t let the witcher go with that guilt weighing on him. <em>Oh,</em> his soul is so bare in those golden eyes. “he must know how dangerous a witcher’s life is. If he chooses it, he won’t blame other’s evil on you, so you shouldn’t. Geralt, you are the kindest man I know.” He adds after a pause. “And if he ever does,<em> well</em>, send him to me. I should have words with him.”</p><p>The familiar gravity returns to Geralt’s eyes.</p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p>“Promise me you won’t blame yourself any longer.”</p><p>“Okay,” The witcher smiles, “I promise.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>By the time Julian saves enough for the first year at Oxenfurt, he is almost sixteen. He knows once he moves away, this life at the estate will be completely behind him. The sizzling anticipation keeps him up every night. <em>A new chapter begins. A new me</em>.</p><p>Julian is anxious to shed the weight of his family name. He should assume a new one, <em>a stage name</em>, something he will be known for.</p><p>For years, he already knows the answer.<em> Jaskier,</em> as the witcher once called him.</p><p>Jaskier the bard.</p><p>He strums his lute and muses it over and over again. It’s unbelievable how right it sounds.</p><p>And yet, another worry occupies his mind—the lake in Lettenhove, his secret friend for half of his life. Will he ever see Geralt again once he moves away? It turns his stomach until their next meeting. It’s only days before he leaves.</p><p>“Are you all packed?”</p><p>“Yes.” The nervous energy he’s emitting must be palpable to the witcher.</p><p>“Then why do you smell like you are going to pass out, Julian?”</p><p><em>Smell like? </em>He puts that information away for later.</p><p>“Jaskier. I’ve changed it.”</p><p>Geralt is unfazed. “Okay, <em>Jaskier</em>. Are you not ready to leave?”</p><p>“I am. It’s just, what about us?”</p><p>“<em>What</em> about us?”</p><p>“Will I ever see you again. You know, I won’t be in Lettenhove.”</p><p>Geralt softens, “Of course you will. Is that what’s bothering you?”</p><p>Jaskier looks down at the lake. With the fall coming, the water clears up so beautifully that the fish are almost swimming mid-air.</p><p>“We’ve only met here, by this lake.”</p><p>“Oh.” It dawns on Geralt. “No, Jaskier. This pull I have…It pulls me to <em>you</em>. <em>You</em> are my anchor, not this place.”</p><p>
  <em>Oh.</em>
</p><p>That’s brilliant. Hope sparkles into joy in Jaskier’s throat. “So I will keep seeing you?”</p><p>“You have your very own time traveler, Jaskier. It’s not that easy to get rid of me.” The corner of Geralt’s mouth picks up, more infectious than anything else in the world.</p><p>Jaskier smiles in return and bumps the witcher in the shoulder. They are almost of a height now. The thought of the witcher coming back to him settles something within him.<em> You are my anchor.</em> Geralt’s constant presence will always be part of Jaskier’s life. Whenever he needs reassurance, he’s just right around the corner. He has an inkling that his role in the witcher’s life has the same effect. <em>Well</em>, at least he hopes.</p><p>“Wouldn’t dream of it.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Oxenfurt is just as magnificent as Jaskier dreams and just as vile as his father claims. He studies and sings, and falls into different beds and, way too often, in love. A childhood of isolation with little affection makes him crave intimacy but something is lacking in all the fleeting romances.</p><p>Essi, who he loves like a little sister, convinces him to attend the Bardic Competition the first year he’s at Oxenfurt. No one this young has ever won it, but Jaskier came through with a song about a mighty hero who slew an evil dragon only to be shunned by locals fearing the powers he possesses. If the inspiration is drawn from his certain time traveling friend, he doesn’t mention it to the people congratulating him.</p><p>Little does he know that an emerging artist called Valdo Marx would return to Oxenfurt and claim the title one year later, winning by a mere single vote. This man prances around the afterparty like a peacock and even gave Jaskier some “helpful notes”.</p><p>After a reasonable amount of time seething and cursing Valdo’s name, Jaskier spends the third year preparing to reclaim the title, the last one before departing Oxenfurt.</p><p>As the day comes, he gets more nervous about everything. The words he writes suddenly lose all appeal, and the melodies sound cheesy as hell. The downward spiraling soon leads to a full-on panic attack right in the middle of a lecture. Jaskier runs into the herbal garden where visitors are sparse and only professors occasionally show up to care for the plants. The warm, soothing air clears his mind as he stumbles through the door and right into Geralt’s chest.</p><p>It has been close to three years since he has seen Geralt, and Jaskier has missed him every night he looks at the stars and feels so alone.</p><p>The stress in his chest erupts and Jaskier falls apart right in Geralt’s solid arms. He quickened breaths rock through his body and the hot, all-consuming panic clouds his mind. But Geralt holds him in return, murmuring sweet nothings in his ears and drawing slow circles on his back. Burrowing in the crook of his neck, Jaskier evens out his breathing and calms down eventually.</p><p>Jaskier pulls back to meet the concerned amber eyes and offers a shaky smile.</p><p>“I’ve missed you.”</p><p>“Hmm.” Geralt still studies Jaskier’s face, a furrow forming between his brows. “Where are we now?”</p><p>“Oxenfurt. It’s a greenhouse.”</p><p>Lush plants are all the eyes can see. Condensation forms in the air. Jaskier steps back to take in the witcher in front of him. His appearance seems younger than some of the times Jaskier has seen him, the faint scar at the corner of his left eye not there yet. The thick attire suggests a much colder climate, and his relaxation shows through the lack of armor and weapons. The usual weariness from the Path is nowhere to be seen in Geralt’s features. In fact, he looks softer around the edges, well-fed and content.</p><p>Well, at least one of them is having a good time.</p><p>“I haven’t seen you in years. I was beginning to think it was a figment of my daydreaming.”</p><p>“Jask, I can’t control where I go. You know that.” Geralt tilts his head, his grip still supporting Jaskier’s elbow. “How have you been.”</p><p>Jaskier only considers lying for a second. “Pretty shit. It’s not the same without my time traveling witcher.”</p><p>They sit down on a bench, and Jaskier fills him in on the missing years while prying some of the monster stories from Geralt. A bruxa was terrorizing a small village in Redania, or<em> will be</em>, somewhere in the future. As much as the witcher is tight-lipped and vague on the details, Jaskier catches a slip.</p><p>“…when we found out there were two bruxae -”</p><p>“We? Who were you with?”</p><p>Geralt tries to gloss it over, “Um…no one.”</p><p>“Your rule again? Can’t you just tell me this one thing? Just this once?”</p><p>The disappointment bleeds into frustration. For years Jaskier has only fleeting glimpses into Geralt’s life, but his own has been laid out without reservation ever since they met. The unfairness has messed with him for long enough.</p><p>“It’s your rule, actually.”</p><p>“My rule?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“My future-self came up with this encrypted game just to mess with me in the past?”</p><p>“Jaskier,” Geralt palms his forehead, “Please drop it.</p><p>“Then tell me something else.” He needs to change the subject. “When did you come from? It’s winter, isn’t it?”</p><p>Geralt looks deep into Jaskier’s eyes and finally relents, “I’m spending the winter at Kaer Morhen. It’s a home for all witchers from the wolf school, however many that’s left of us.”</p><p>Surprise overtakes Jaskier. “I read about it in the library. I thought it was a myth, like all the other things they say about witchers. A fortress high up in the clouds, covered in snow, inaccessible to the rest of the world.”</p><p>“Hmm. Not everything about us is a lie. Have you been reading up on witchers?”</p><p>“And about you.”</p><p>Alert creeps into Geralt’s face, his tone tentative. “What else did you learn?”</p><p>Realization hits Jaskier. <em>Oh, that</em>.</p><p>When he first heard about Geralt’s name associated with the word ‘butcher’, he thought there had to be a mistake. It was another witchers, perhaps. But all the whispers on the continent confirmed that, no, it was Geralt who was in Blaviken that day.</p><p>“There are stories, different versions of it, about you in Blaviken. They call you…I only know what people say. Geralt, what happened?”</p><p>“What do <em>you</em> think happened?” The witcher retreats, defense right up in his eyes, as if to protect himself from whatever Jaskier is going to accuse him of.</p><p>“I only know what I heard.”</p><p>“And what did you hear?”</p><p>“That you murdered innocents. In cold blood.” Geralt retreats further, as if pained. The story he caught was about a monster who mercilessly cut down a dozen men under the influence of magic. The details vary when you ask travelers from different places, but the cruelness of the wolf witcher is plain as day in every version.</p><p>Somehow, the image of a cold-blooded killing machine does not overlap with the gruff yet sweet man who greeted Jaskier with such warmth by the lake, or the man who once let Jaskier braid wildflowers into his hair.</p><p>“What really happened, Geralt?”</p><p>His gaze flickers back to Jaskier’s. “What else do you want me to say. Do you not trust what you hear?”</p><p>“Somehow I trust you more.”</p><p>The heartbreak in Geralt’s beautiful golden eyes is so palpable that Jaskier cannot look away.</p><p>“I don’t deserve you, Jaskier.”</p><p>There’s more behind this sentence that Jaskier pays little mind to, because Geralt starts telling him the truth about Blaviken. About the princess who was so hurt by men that she was consumed by revenge. It’s like a dam has been broken. Geralt lets the words flow out of him without hesitation. The impossible choice still seizes and pains him, and by the end of the story, Geralt slumps down in resignation.</p><p>There's coldness on Jaskier’s face. He realizes that tears are streaming down freely, blurring his vision.</p><p>“It’s not your fault. Gods, Geralt – You only wanted to protect them, and they – they cursed you. They called you…Gods, how can they –” His breath hitches.</p><p>A warms hand cups his cheek, wiping away the tearstain, just like many times before when Jaskier desperately needed comfort when he ran to the lake and saw the familiar silhouette. But it’s all wrong. He is not the one who should receive comfort right now, and yet Geralt offers.</p><p>“I thought it was the lesser evil, but I was wrong. I deserve what they call me, Jaskier. The Butcher is right –”</p><p>“No. No!” Jaskier holds on to him in return. The regret on the other man’s face is clear as day but a sliver of hope surfaces when their gazes lock. “You made an impossible choice. You only tried to do right by everyone. Geralt, I wish you wouldn’t see yourself as they do. Please, see yourself as <em>I</em> do.”</p><p>“And how do you see me?”</p><p>Geralt’s wolf medallion tangles with the white hair cascading down his shoulders. Jaskier holds it and strokes the silky hair.</p><p>“You are my own time traveler. My best friend. The kindest man I know,<em> my White Wolf</em>.”</p><p>Jaskier wishes he could erase the tightly knit frown between the witcher’s eyes, but the words seem unable to penetrate the long-existing walls Geralt built around himself. He wishes he could convince Geralt of his trust, of his admiration, of his adoration. But all his bardic eloquence is gone, leaving him with one option.</p><p>Jaskier presses their lips together and kisses Geralt with all he cannot articulate. It is rushed and clumsy, the taste of salt between them, lacking all the confidence he usually has with all but fleeting bed partners. And yet, it gets through to Geralt, just for a moment, when he responds with the same eagerness and opens up with a passion. Just when Jaskier is lost in the sweet rhythm, Geralt pulls away.</p><p>“No, we shouldn’t.” They breathe in the same air.</p><p>“And why not?” Jaskier pants.</p><p>The amber eyes meet his before Geralt buries himself in Jaskier’s neck, breathing in the scent at his nape. His fingers card through Jaskier’s hair. A mumbled vibration comes through the solid contact of their bodies, “It’s not <em>time</em> yet.”</p><p>Jaskier can almost laugh, “Time? How cruel? Time has done nothing but keep us apart.”</p><p>Geralt only hums.</p><p>“It also brings us together. Wait until we meet, Jaskier. Just wait a bit longer.”</p><p>Jaskier knows they are going to meet at some point when he no longer needs to steal little pockets of time with his witcher. He’s been waiting his whole life for that moment. His patience is running out.</p><p>“When?”</p><p>“Sooner than you think.”</p><p>“And when is that?”</p><p>“Soon. I promise.”</p><p>Geralt nuzzles at Jaskier’s neck, presses a light kiss behind his ear, and pulls away completely.</p><p>This time, when his favorite time traveler fades away in the greenhouse, something shifts in Jaskier’s heart. An emptiness is punctured into his chest, deep into his lungs, clenching at every breath he takes, but he has no way of filling it. He can only wait for when destiny deems it appropriate for them to meet again.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>As Geralt promised, their next meeting <em>is</em> soon, sooner than Jaskier expected.</p><p>He leaves Oxenfurt with another title of the Bardic Competition and travels aimlessly until he reaches Upper Posada. Singing at lowly taverns does not guarantee positive reception but Jaskier manages. Strumming his lute brings him comfort and pride as always, and if his songs about monster-slaying are a little exaggerated, there is no one to correct him.</p><p>In this particular joint though, the local drunken folks are showing probably too much disdain for Jaskier’s performance. As he picks up the thrown food, the familiar silver hair and golden eyes fill his vision.</p><p>Jaskier approaches his old friend, his own heartbeat rabbiting in his throat.</p><p>He flirts and teases before sitting down at the table.</p><p>“You don’t want to keep an old friend with…bread in his pants waiting.”</p><p>There is no recognition in the amber eyes he dreams of too often.</p><p>Geralt doesn’t know him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jaskier deals with the fact that his old friend does not even know him. And has a glimpse of the future in the meantime.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>There are referenced child abuse and mentions of chronic pain in this chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Calling the witcher ‘old friend’ at the tavern was probably a mistake. The Geralt walking in front of Jaskier looks exactly the same as he remembers: golden eyes and rugged jawline. And yet, this is the furthest Jaskier has ever felt from him ever since the first sunset at the lake.</p><p>There is no warmth to greet him, no knowing smile or softness, only indifference that bleeds into annoyance. The gut-punch is as loud a declaration as it gets. This Geralt is the youngest Jaskier has ever seen him, hardened with weary travels and open night skies, and yet seasoned enough to have settled into distrust and isolation.</p><p>As they trudge through Dol Blathanna, the notebook filled with their encounters sits in Jaskier’s pocket, every date recorded with the utmost care, burning a hole onto his mind. How does he explain it? How does he explain that he’s been friends with the witcher for eight years while he only glares at Jaskier with derision? No, that is too unfair.</p><p>Besides, even if he dumps it all out, Geralt is unlikely to just…transform into the person in Jaskier’s memory. This witcher is not the ever-present friend of Jaskier’s childhood, not yet. He knows better than most that you can’t force people into becoming someone they are not.</p><p>Jaskier leaves the notebook at the bottom of his pack.</p><p>At the edge of the world, he witnesses the heartbreaks of an elf king. The second-hand stories he knows by heart now pale in comparison. A taste of the real world, of the real pain humans have been ignoring is all it takes for Jaskier to be sure of his path. He is a storyteller. Destiny has decided that when it brought the amber eyes into his life at the age of eleven, so he tells the story. He writes the song.</p><p>Jaskier starts following Geralt.</p><p>They settle into a routine: monsters, songs, and nothing more. There are no mythical powers that can bring his best friend to him anymore, only the newly acquainted wolf witcher who now tolerates him with glowers.</p><p>It shouldn’t sting when Jaskier sings their adventures at taverns and Geralt only grunts as feedback. It shouldn’t sting when his chatter is only answered with silence or an absent-minded hum. It shouldn’t sting when Geralt flinches upon hearing Jaskier refer to him as <em>friend</em> while begging to see the hunt himself.</p><p>“We are not friends, Jaskier.”</p><p>It shouldn’t because it is where their story begins, properly this time. And yet it does.</p><p>Seasons pass. Jaskier cannot stop searching for recognition in those amber eyes. Nothing comes up. Still, he searches.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Geralt notices.</p><p>As subtle as Jaskier would like to believe he is, his companion is too perceptive. <em>We can tell by the heartbeat when someone is lying or hiding something. </em>He learned this long ago by the lakeside, when Geralt indulged his curiosity by debunking all the witcher myths.<em> No, Julian. We cannot read minds.</em></p><p>His excitement that day reflected in the witcher’s eyes that were amused by a child’s wonderment.</p><p>Can he tell what Jaskier is hiding now?</p><p>Jaskier stares long at his form on Roach when a throw-away comment from the witcher brings him right back to the lake, all the words stuck at his throat.</p><p>“You’ve been quiet, bard.”</p><p>“What? Miss my lovely voice?”</p><p>“Glad for the silence.” Geralt drops it, but his gaze lingers for a moment.</p><p>At night, Jaskier helps the witcher remove his armors, a newly formed habit as their travels settle into a familiar rhythm. His fingers untie the complicated knots. Geralt’s breaths brush by his ear.</p><p>A warm hand comes up to steady Jaskier by the elbow, the thumb drawing small circles on his chemise. It’s a comfort that he has received so many times before, a reassurance that he can trace by heart. And yet, Geralt is unaware.</p><p>Jaskier’s breath hitches in his chest, his heartbeat suddenly rabbiting.</p><p>“All right?”</p><p>He cannot acknowledge the concern, scared that more will be revealed. Muttering something about being late, he fumbles away to his bedroll and burrows deep. As the churning in his mind subsides, Jaskier falls asleep hoping that it never comes up again.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It comes up again.</p><p>They sit by the glowing campfire, Geralt having just returned from a hunt in the forest. Despite the Witcher’s reluctance, Jaskier nudges him to spill the details and takes them down for new songs. The scratching of his quill fills Geralt’s contemplative pauses.</p><p>“This is all very good, Geralt. It’d make a great song. But what was the wyvern like? Come on, help me paint the picture.”</p><p>“It was…big, and green.”</p><p>Jaskier chuckles, his quill hovering mid-air. So many times before has Geralt only described a monster as ‘big’ or ‘fast’, even the older, more mature Witcher he met in his teenage years sometimes struggled with more adjectives. Being the curious child he was, Jaskier pestered incessantly for more during their short encounters. At night, he would lie in bed, playing out the scene in his head, clashes of magic and steel lulling him into sleep. Now, almost a decade later, he sits in the exact same spot in front of the Witcher, desperate to learn anything from a quest, just to be stunted by Geralt’s inability to form words.</p><p>“Some things never change.”</p><p>Jaskier smiles to himself and continues to fill in the blanks with more theatrical touches. A song does not become the greatest hit on the Continent just with plain facts and verbs. Chewing on the quill, he barely notices that Geralt’s posture has stiffened.</p><p>“Why do you say that?”</p><p>“What?” Still distracted with composing a melody for the words, Jaskier looks up at Geralt, whose expression now full of alert.</p><p>“What never changes?”</p><p>“Um…Just you?” Jaskier stammers, “Stingy on the details, as usual.”</p><p>“It’s not just today.” Geralt scowls and stands, pacing around camp irritated. “You talk as if… as if you know me a great deal, Jaskier. You look at me as if you see an old friend. You were familiar with me from the very first day. You didn’t run away in fear like so many others.”</p><p>Oh well, subtlety is not exactly Jaskier’s forte.</p><p>“You know me,” He tries to gloss it over, “the ever so friendly bard.”</p><p>Geralt considers him skeptically. Under the intense scrutiny, Jaskier swallows a lump in his throat. The witcher finally relents.</p><p>“Whatever you see in me, <em>bard</em>,” Geralt lets out a resigned sigh, “it’s not there. So stop looking.”</p><p><em>It’s too late for that</em>, Jaskier thinks. <em>Or too early.</em></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“I mean, why can’t I just tell you everything?”</p><p>Geralt walks beside Jaskier, his hair in a simple pony. A long scar runs down his left eye, barely missing it.</p><p><em>That one’s new</em>.</p><p>It’s so jarring that Jaskier cannot stop staring at it even though he knows it’s rude. Added with the well-trimmed beard, framing his sharp jawline, Jaskier is almost looking at someone else. Witchers don’t age like the rest of them do, but the years are clearly showing on Geralt’s face, giving him more gravitas. <em>The White Wolf,</em> indeed.</p><p>He has a slight limp in one of his legs, also something new. The breastplate of his armor is worn and beat after what looks like decades of use.</p><p>A strange sight. Jaskier has only witnessed the man’s younger counterpart buy the same plate a week ago at a market in Cidaris, brand new and shiny. It was right before Jaskier decided to stay and perform at the local court and Geralt traveled on by himself.</p><p>The small garden behind the main hall is where he has found the older witcher, who embraced Jaskier immediately without a beat. It is when Jaskier breathes in the familiar pine and leather that he realizes how much he’s missed his old friend, even though he’s been traveling with the same person for the past year.</p><p>Keeping the secret has taken a toll on Jaskier, as he only notices now that he is completely relaxed. He desperately wishes to unload it.</p><p>“You are going to know anyway. When you inevitably end up in Lettenhove, pimpled teenage me in front of you.”</p><p>“Jask,” The endearment comes out of the older Witcher so naturally, his voice deep and rich as wine. “You have seen me in my younger days. I was quite…let’s say, untrusting. I was determined to be alone. Telling me that destiny has bound me to a bard with no self-preservation instincts would only send me running away screaming.”</p><p>Jaskier teases, “Now that’s something I’d like to see. The mighty Witcher running and screaming because of a bard.”</p><p>“Hmm,” Geralt smiles in return, “There are things that we have to experience for ourselves. Just wait a bit longer. I’m unlikely to be pulled away when we are together. It’ll have to be when we part ways. As I said, it’s like a homing beacon.”</p><p>An <em>anchor</em>.</p><p>“And now, you are only here when Geralt is gone. I mean, you. The younger you.” Jaskier muses, “Destiny has a way of keeping you from running into yourself. Hah! Probably a good idea. Imagine the brooding doubled.”</p><p>Geralt stays oddly silent and guides them both to sit on one of the benches, his knee stiff and slow to bend. It slipped Jaskier’s notice that now there is a sheen of sweat on Geralt’s forehead, his brows furrowing in pain. He starts rubbing at the knee with a wince, breathing through the discomfort. His right elbow also creaks like an old ship, followed by a pained gasp.</p><p>With the fast healing, it must be a particularly bad injury for it to affect Geralt this much. Jaskier rubs his hands together to warm them up and places them on the Witcher’s elbow, slowly massaging it to ease out the tension. He’s quite unsure of his touches, but, judging from Geralt’s gradually relaxing posture, it is working nonetheless.</p><p>“What kind of beast hurt you like this? Can I warn you when the day comes?” Jaskier’s worry clenches in his chest. After a moment, Geralt places his larger hand on top of Jaskier’s, an unvoiced thanks. So Jaskier lets go.</p><p>They are sitting too closely together. Jaskier can see the tiny scars on Geralt’s face, thin lines that disappear into the thick beard. Leather and pine, the most reassuring scents in the world, overwhelm his senses and draw him closer.</p><p>“I wish we could take away all the hurt that will happen.” Geralt says with regret, “But no, Jask, I’d rather not. Some things need to happen for us both to be here today. Not to mentions many others.”</p><p>“I can just warn you about this one thing.”</p><p>Geralt’s gaze meets Jaskier’s, the long scar prominent. “Some things are too important to risk. I now have people who are dear to me. They – they’ve all come a long way. I wouldn’t change it for the world if it means they are safe. Even if I have to go through this.” He rubs at his knee again.</p><p>The weight behind the words settles in Jaskier’s chest.</p><p>The Geralt he has been traveling with is so determined on isolation and detachment, rejecting even simple friendship. He cares, in his own silent, brooding way. Jaskier sees it when he refuses payment from people who are struggling to make ends meet. He sees it when he buys Jaskier new boots when a pair has worn out. And he sees it when Roach’s coat is always kept pristine when the witcher cannot afford new clothing for himself.</p><p>But the man in front of Jaskier speaks of people in his life with love and openness, all his rough edges softened and smoothed. Whatever happened in the years in between, Jaskier is eager to learn.</p><p>“You are a self-sacrificing idiot as usual.” He jokes.</p><p>The adoration in Jaskier’s heart unfurls into something more, something he does not dare to name. The same something, he realizes, is the gravity behind Geralt’s golden eyes that he’s been unable to name.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier is twenty-four when Geralt finds out.</p><p>He has just spent a winter at Oxenfurt after being offered a teaching post while Geralt returned to Kaer Morhen as usual. The job is exciting, and the students could not be more pleasant. Adding the occasional visits from Essi and Shani, Jaskier doesn’t have many complaints.</p><p>And if he lingers too long in the greenhouse, standing wishfully for something to happen, that’s no one else’s business.</p><p>Usually Jaskier waits until the ground begins to thaw before departing for Kaedwen, where he will continue to roam and perform in major cities and possibly run into Geralt. Their shared journeys are never planned, and they never agreed upon any meeting places, but somehow the bard can always find the witcher in the springtime, so that they may resume their on-and-off travels.</p><p>This spring, however, an unexpected cold spell hits Oxenfurt after buds have sprouted from bald branches. A blanket of snow covers the cobblestone streets overnight, driving students and staff alike indoors with sniffles and shudders.</p><p>Jaskier is intending to retreat into his bedroom with a cup of steaming ginger tea, when he hears of two professors talking about the famous White Wolf being stopped at the city gate. Perplexed, he puts on a heavy coat and walks across town, blowing at his frozen fingers to warm them up.</p><p>Geralt never seeks him out when the season turns, despite Jaskier’s attempt at hinting at his wintering plans multiple times every fall. If the witcher is here this early in the spring, he must have left the Blue Mountains when the howling wind of winter was still raging. Traveling across the continent in the cold cannot be easy even for him, especially when contracts are still scarce.</p><p>Jaskier’s boots crunch the snow beneath them, his vision filled with the clear, grey sky and snowflakes scattered in the air. Outside the city gate, a tall, cloaked figure is being told off by a guard. A chestnut mare waits loyally in the distance.</p><p>Geralt is right there, snowflakes peppering his dark cloak. His complexion is sour as ever.</p><p>Gods, Jaskier has missed him.</p><p>“Geralt! What brings you here?” Jaskier shouts to get his attention and jogs on the slippery road to embrace the witcher. The hug is brief and impersonal, and when he steps back the misery is still present.</p><p>“Aren’t you happy to see your best friend? After all, you’re the one who traveled in this sodding weather just to see me.”</p><p>Jaskier expects a rebuttal of the claim ‘best friend’, but it never comes. The witcher’s comprehension is mixed with travel weary, souring him even further.</p><p>“I have something of great importance to discuss with you, Jaskier.” Geralt gestures to the guard. “But this man won’t let me into the city.”</p><p>Jaskier turns to the guard and explains that the witcher is an esteemed guest of the university before they are both let in with Roach in tow.</p><p>The walk to Jaskier’s lodging is silent with a tension in the air. The Witcher looks tired, disheveled from the wind and cold. Jaskier will warm them both up with a fire and ginger tea then.</p><p>“So,” Jaskier tries to make conversation, “Before we discuss the matter of ‘<em>great importance</em>’, how was Kaer Morhen? You know, the mythical witcher keep nobody knows anything about.”</p><p>“It was…fine.”</p><p>“Masterful conversationalist as ever.” Jaskier takes in the curt response and fills the silence with stories of his winter at the university. He chuckles at the funny bits himself when Geralt seems deep in thoughts the entire time.</p><p>Once they have put Roach in the university’s stable and entered Jaskier’s warm bedroom, the tension can be cut by a knife. An inexplicable nervousness bobbles up in Jaskier’s throat as Geralt puts down his pack by the door and begins to speak.</p><p>“Jaskier –”</p><p>“Before you say anything,” he interrupts, pulling out a bottle of wine and two glasses. It seems that ginger tea might not be strong enough to get him through this conversation. “We should warm up a little. Can you believe the weather!”</p><p>He puts one glass on the table near Geralt and downs the other in one go.</p><p>“Jaskier,” Geralt reasserts himself, the golden eyes determined. “Why didn’t you tell me you’ve met me before?”</p><p>Jaskier studies his glass as if it is the most interesting thing in the world. The witcher continues.</p><p>“There was a lake, in the woods. You were young, and you…you greeted me by name. You knew me.” Geralt’s brows scrunch up in confusion. “You knew me before we met.”</p><p>“Um…yes?” Jaskier grimaces.</p><p>“Why haven’t you told me before? Damn it, Jaskier. You knew this whole time that I –”</p><p>“That you can magically time travel to my childhood?” Jaskier puts down his empty glass next to Geralt’s untouched one. “What was I supposed to say back then, Geralt? ‘<em>Hello, you don’t know me but I know everything about you. And that includes your secret power because I’ve met you twenty times before today –’</em>”</p><p>“Twenty times?”</p><p>“Well I haven’t counted in a while so it could be off.”</p><p>Geralt sighs, palming his face. They both look away. The weighted silence in the room is only interrupted by the occasional crackling in the fireplace.</p><p>“Twenty times.” Geralt mutters to himself. “How – why?”</p><p>Jaskier tries, “You told me yourself. Your powers have this…pull. It’s like –”</p><p>“Gravity.”</p><p>“It pulls you to certain places or certain people.” Jaskier vaguely gestures around himself.</p><p>Realization dawns on Geralt’s face.</p><p>“That’s why you followed me. That’s why you weren’t scared of me, why you look at me…” He trails off. “Because destiny already forced me into your life.”</p><p>Geralt’s features morph into a stoic resignation, something Jaskier is too familiar with. It’s what Geralt looks like when someone chases him out of an inn or throws things at him, or when mothers yell at their children to get away from him.</p><p><em>No</em>. Jaskier won’t allow it now.</p><p>“No,” His voice is desperate, “It was because you were my best friend. You <em>are</em> my best friend. You were there for me by the lake when no one else was. I followed you because you are kind and brave –”</p><p>“Because destiny already decided for you.”</p><p>“No –”</p><p>“Gods, Jaskier. You were so young. You shouldn’t be bound to me by something I cannot even control.”</p><p>Jaskier takes in a shuddering breath. “It’s too late for that.”</p><p>He doesn’t know how to convince Geralt, who looks so guilty through Jaskier’s blurred vision. He feels weak and hollow.</p><p>The conversation continues but Jaskier pays no attention. Geralt says something about traveling separately for a while and begins to leave. Golden eyes meet Jaskier one last time before the door clicks shut.</p><p><em>Running away and screaming indeed</em>.</p><p>Sagging into a chair, Jaskier remembers the worn-out notebook sitting on the shelf, untouched.</p><p>Once again, Jaskier is left alone, his best friend disappearing right in front of his eyes.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier tries to find Geralt but always falls a step behind.</p><p>He travels and plays, pleasing tavern audiences so he may get a place to sleep. He asks about the white-haired witcher everywhere he goes, hoping he can catch up with him just like so many other times. But he is always gone whenever Jaskier sets foot into a town, as if sensing his presence.</p><p>“Isn’t that your witcher? The one from your songs?”</p><p>Jaskier tries not to wince.</p><p>“He was here days ago, but I heard he left for Novigrad.” The innkeeper says in confusion, “Why aren’t you with him?”</p><p>Putting on a bright smile, Jaskier answers, “Even the most talented artist cannot stay with his muse all the time. Lest the creativity runs dry.”</p><p>He sets out for Novigrad, but never reaches it.</p><p>Jaskier does not see the bandits coming, nor is he capable of fending off all five of them. The dagger he hides in his boot and the sword fighting lessons that tutors once forced upon him can only do so much against these fully armed men.</p><p>After stabbing one of them in the shoulder, causing him to yell and cuss, Jaskier is knocked out cold from behind.</p><p>Jaskier wakes up flung across the back of a dark horse. The pain at the back of his head throbs with every step it takes, the moving ground makes bile rise in his throat. The men talk about ransom from the Viscount de Lettenhove for his only son.</p><p>Oh, dear.</p><p>There is no way to tell how they learned, since Jaskier is gagged and tied to a tree when they set camp. He doubts his kidnappers are willing to indulge his curiosity anyway. A growl comes from his stomach. The fire and roasted dinner warm in the distance but clearly these men are not the sharing type.</p><p>Frustrated, Jaskier dozes off as night falls, listening to their constant chatter about how to spend the ransom. <em>Too bad for them</em>, Jaskier thinks half-asleep, <em>they are not getting any money</em>. Father will probably thank them for stopping the family embarrassment from tarnishing the Pankratz name any further.</p><p>Jaskier wakes up again, to the sound of yelling and weapons clash.</p><p>Bodies are flung across the campsite; his captors scream in pain and scatter. The startled horses gallop away with some of riders on top. A flash of black and silver moves with an elegance that can inspire songs after songs.</p><p>A hand comes to remove the gag in Jaskier’s mouth and continues to undo the ropes around his wrists. Concern sparks in the gold, the softness overlapping with Jaskier’s distant memories. He should greet an old friend, or it’ll seem rude –</p><p>“Julian,” Geralt says, “That’s a terrible name for you.”</p><p>Jaskier blinks. Now Geralt is reaching to untie the knot behind Jaskier, their breaths only inches away. No scar. These are the same eyes that left him in Oxenfurt months ago, with the click of a door.</p><p>Not an <em>old</em> friend, then.</p><p>“That’s why I changed it.” The rope burns on Jaskier’s wrists sting when he tries to flex them. He states the obvious, “I see my witcher in shining armor has come back to save me, again.”</p><p>“It’s like you are looking for trouble, bard.”</p><p>“Not like it was my fault.”<em> Well, only a little bit his fault.</em></p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p>“I was looking for you.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>Of course, he was avoiding Jaskier on purpose.</p><p>“Why did you have a change of heart then? Missed my charming personalities?” Jaskier intends a joke, but the old name reminds him. “Wait. You were at the lake again?”</p><p>Geralt hums as Jaskier gets up to rummage through what his kidnappers left. Thank the gods they thought his lute and bags might be worth something and didn’t chuck them in a ditch.</p><p>Neither the lute case nor the instrument inside received much damage, to Jaskier’s relief. He should check for his bags as well –</p><p>“You kept asking when I would be back.”</p><p>Jaskier pauses. “And you couldn’t answer.”</p><p>“You asked me not to leave. You cried.”</p><p>Yes, he desperately grasped for any semblance of certainty as a child, and when he couldn’t get it young Julian spiraled into a panic, begging the witcher not to leave. He remembers trying to hold back the tears but it came out with snot and hiccups. The embarrassment is still fresh after a decade.</p><p>“Well, there’s no need to remind me.”</p><p>“No, I –” Geralt struggles with words, “You said you kept records for me. I don’t want to disappoint you again if I go back there. <em>When</em> I go back.”</p><p>The leather-bound notebook is still sitting at the bottom of Jaskier’s bag. He can feel the shape of it through the fabric. It is what Geralt came back for, just so he can have an answer for that child, so he will not disappoint him next time.</p><p>“That’s sweet.”</p><p>“Jaskier. I would never choose to entangle your life with mine, a witcher’s. It’s –” Geralt breathes, “You were so young.”</p><p>So he said, months ago. Jaskier digs into the bag and retrieves the notebook, walks up to Geralt, and presses it on his chest. Geralt catches it, his gaze never leaving Jaskier’s.</p><p>“I wrote down the dates after each of your visits. All you need should be in there.” Jaskier suddenly notices how tired and hungry he is, the headache flaring up once he’s upright. He sways as a clink of metal hits the ground and Geralt’s strong hand steadies him at the elbow. “Oh, thanks.”</p><p>Geralt only hums, but his amber eyes keep studying Jaskier.</p><p>“You said you didn’t want me bound to your life.” Jaskier tries again, “But Geralt, you were the best part of my childhood. You were the reason I could leave that wretched place. You were the only person who saw me when no one paid any attention. I – I cannot imagine my life if you weren’t in it, if you hadn’t shown up by that lake in Lettenhove. So please...don’t turn away from me.”</p><p>He’s begging again, just like ten years ago. He’s begging for the little boy waiting by the water. He’s begging for himself now. It doesn’t matter that it’s embarrassing because after a beat, Geralt nods.</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I said okay,” Geralt’s expression sags with softness. “I – You were so excited to see me. You asked about my hunts. And Jaskier, you were so unhappy in your own home, but my stories... There was a spark in your eyes when you listened to them.”</p><p>Jaskier’s breath hitches. He looks into the sunlight gold boring into his with warmth.</p><p>“Does that mean you’ll stop running from me?”</p><p>“I would never want to snuff it out. That spark.” Geralt sounds apologetic, “I see now that you decided this life by yourself. Travelling and adventures. They suit you well, Jaskier. So yeah.”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Because there is a boy in Lettenhove, and he really, really looks forward to seeing you. In fact, he is counting the days right now, for your next return.”</p><p>Geralt chuckles, “That’s not how this works.”</p><p>“You know what I mean.”</p><p>Jaskier grins in return, patting the witcher on the arm. Geralt looks at the notebook in his hand and says solemnly, “I won’t disappoint him again.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The door of their shared inn room creaks open and it sounds like a bag of coin is dropped on the table.</p><p>“Ah. I see you collected payment for the griffin.” Jaskier looks up from the music sheets spread out on the bed.</p><p>“I was at the lake with you.”</p><p>Jaskier feels a big grin spread across his face.</p><p>“You made me tell you about the hunt.” Geralt says.</p><p>“Yes, I remember. And I composed my very first witcher song two days later. Well, only in my head and it lacked a bit of polishing, but you know, I was eleven.”</p><p>“Does that mean I’m spared now?”</p><p>“Yes, my dear. You may be spared of recounting your mighty battles for now. I still remember it quite vividly. Did you tell me you bit feathers off its wing and choked?”</p><p>“Fuck off, bard.”</p><p>Jaskier chuckles and gets back to his composing. It might be time to revisit an old song yet.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“I was at the lake with you.”</p><p>“When?”</p><p>“Last month, when we were apart.”</p><p>“No, when for me?”</p><p>Geralt looks down at Jaskier, who is lying in the meadow of wildflowers next to the witcher’s crossed legs, trying and failing to braid a flower crown of dandelions. The afternoon heat is relentless, drenching them both in sweat before they have to take a break.</p><p>Tall shrubs cast down a cool shade where they are sitting, shielding away the scorch. Roach is nibbling at some flowers in the distance, the same flowers that Jaskier cannot seem to bend into shape without crushing.</p><p>“You were…older.” Geralt says after considering, “You braided flowers into my hair.”</p><p>“Oh yeah. That day. Can I do it now?”</p><p>“You are not a child anymore.”</p><p>“No, but this is not working.” Jaskier throws away the dandelions that are now in pieces, pouting. He lies back on the grass, inhaling the fresh smell of grass and letting the breeze cool him down a little. Above him, Geralt looks refreshed after a short meditation.</p><p>“You were getting restless. In your own home, about your own future. You kept asking me if you were going to leave Lettenhove.”</p><p>“And you distracted me by letting me braid your hair. I totally forgot about pestering you for the rest of the day.”</p><p>“It worked.”</p><p>“Hmm.” Jaskier is almost impressed.</p><p>Geralt pauses for a moment. “You were so unhappy, Jaskier. You couldn’t see a future for yourself.”</p><p>“Well, that’s why I left. It’s all fine now. I’m living my best life with my favorite time traveler. Don’t worry, dear.” With his forearm placed on his eyes, Jaskier is almost dozing off.</p><p>“Should I have told you, just so you had an idea?”</p><p>Sometimes Jaskier still thinks about his childhood in Lettenhove, how miserable he was under all the expectations that he was never going to meet. No, he couldn’t see a future for himself as the Viscount, neither did his father, as the falling of canes and sticks proved. Sometimes Jaskier still wakes up from nightmares rehashing those beatings.</p><p>Would it have been better if his younger self had known what the future had in store?</p><p>“No,” He says, “Don’t tell me anything. What I went through put me here. It made me what I am. Telling me the future might change things, and I would never take that risk.”</p><p>“Hmm.” Geralt sounds apprehensive. “I’ll have to keep you in the dark.”</p><p>Sitting up, Jaskier places a hand on Geralt’s knee, the one that’s going to retain an injury that doesn’t heal well, the one that’s going to creak and spasm on rainy days. Geralt from the future is willing to endure the hurt just to make sure everything goes right, young Julian will have to as well.</p><p>“I wish there was another way. Believe me, I do. But…there’s too much at risk.” He squeezes, hoping it’s reassuring. “I know you don’t like this, Geralt. But time is too tricky, you can’t tell me anything about my future. That’s the rule.”</p><p>“Says who?”</p><p>“Says me.”</p><p>“It might be the first rule anyone’s had about time travels.”</p><p>“Right,” Jaskier smiles tightly, “The very first one.”</p><p>They go back to cooling off in a companionable silence before moving on again. Geralt rides on Roach’s back while Jaskier strums his lute on the ground, playing a song in Elder absent-mindedly.</p><p>For what it is worth, Jaskier’s past is already too well tangled with this beautiful witcher in front of him. There is no changing his fate now.</p><p>A comforting weight unfurls in his heart whenever Geralt is near, regardless of which version of him it is. It unfurls even further with each step they take together over the years. In the blazing afternoon sun, it blooms into something else.</p><p>
  <em>Oh.</em>
</p><p>He loves him.</p><p>He loves him with all he is, was, and ever will be.</p><p>No matter. Their days ahead will be just as entwined as the past.</p><p>Jaskier strums his lute again, the song turns into something bawdy. The amber looks back at him with mirth and a mirrored smile.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Transition finally over. We are going to Cintra next!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>His first kiss with Geralt stemmed from such desperation that he never had the chance to savor it. But now, as they both stand under the tranquil winter sky, they would have the time to taste it, to memorize it. Heat climbs up Jaskier’s neck despite the freezing temperature. He leans in just a smidge. Would it be improper if –</p><p>“How do you do it?” Geralt interrupts his daze.<br/>“Hmm?”<br/>“How do you live like this, waiting by a lake, knowing destiny has full control over you? Knowing you cannot change anything.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The chapter count has gone up again. It seems the story is taking longer than I planned.</p><p>Tags and ratings have been updated. Please heed the warnings and take care of yourselves!</p><p>This chapter mentions past child abuse and a brief panic attack.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>Bringing Geralt to the banquet was probably a mistake,</em> Jaskier ponders as the Witcher leaves the makeshift wedding ceremony. Pavetta and Duny are still kneeling on the ground, surprise now overtaking the bliss on their faces.</p><p>Jaskier picks up his lute and chases Geralt out of the winding hallways of the Cintran court, bumping into several people along the way. By the time he steps out into the crisp winter air, Geralt is nowhere to be seen.</p><p>Unwilling to return to the bustling crowd, one that must be descending into panic again, Jaskier begins walking back to the inn they are staying at, where he will surely catch up with Geralt. Worry churns in his stomach, but he knows, no matter how distraught, the Witcher is unlikely to take off with Roach still stabled in the city.</p><p>The night air is cool and calming. Jaskier takes advantage of the walk to clear his head. The emotional turmoil of the night is wearing off along with the adrenaline.</p><p>An unborn child is now bound to Geralt by destiny.</p><p>
  <em>A child surprise.</em>
</p><p>Boy is he gonna take it well.</p><p>Jaskier lets out a tight chuckle and looks up to the sky in frustration. The Geralt he knows loathes the idea of destiny deciding anything for him, loathes having his agency taken away. And above all, he is utterly convinced that he should be alone, that he should be detached from all human connections.</p><p>Geralt is going to run away again, Jaskier realizes. He will hide in some far-off corner on the Continent, at least until the reality sinks into his stubborn head. Some hollow words of ancient law are surely not enough to convince him. He will keep rejecting his child until reality hits him in the face, one way or another.</p><p>Jaskier knows this because that’s how Geralt reacted to him, to the little boy by the lake. Geralt might have accepted Jaskier in his life now, but it certainly took time. And this is going to take time as well.</p><p>Jaskier walks into the inn and sags in relief when he finds the mare still in the stable. He walks close as Roach bumps him in the chest.</p><p>“Hey, good girl.” Jaskier pats her smooth mane as she tries to chew on his hair. Despite Geralt’s reluctance of letting Jaskier near his horse, Roach is actually quite amicable whenever the bard requires comfort. “You are not worried about Geralt abandoning <em>you</em>, are you.”</p><p>Roach makes a noise as if in agreement.</p><p>“Of course not, he loves you, even if he doesn’t say it out loud. Me, on the other hand…”</p><p>Jaskier feels so defeated, a lump forming in his throat. Moments like this are when he starts missing his time traveler friend, the witcher who is open with affection, who hugs Jaskier as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, who is always in his corner.</p><p>He knows he shouldn’t think of Geralt from the future as a different person, but the two images don’t seem to overlap no matter how hard he tries.</p><p>Jaskier stays in the cold for god knows how long until a gravelly voice startles him out of his reverie.</p><p>“Are you bribing her again?”</p><p>“Geralt.” He turns to look at the Witcher, who’s only just stepped into the inn. “You know Roach doesn’t need bribing to like me.”</p><p>Geralt hums.</p><p>Jaskier looks down at his own feet, not wanting to address the elephant in the room. “How come you took longer than I did? I thought you left earlier.”</p><p>“Got held up.”</p><p>“By what? Monsters at a royal court?” Jaskier jests.</p><p>“I was at the lake.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>Suddenly caught off-guard, Jaskier is at a loss for words. Geralt’s gaze studies him with something inscrutable as if Jaskier is a complicated puzzle.</p><p>Twice tonight, Geralt is reminded that destiny can screw him over whenever it fancies. Twice tonight, Geralt is powerless to stop someone inserted into his life without ever having a say in it.</p><p>Somehow Jaskier feels apologetic.</p><p>“Sorry.”</p><p>Geralt tilts his head, amusement reaching his eyes. “What are <em>you</em> sorry for, Jaskier?”</p><p>“Just –” Jaskier tries. “I’m sorry destiny shoved someone into your life.”</p><p><em>Again</em>.</p><p>He doesn’t say it, but Geralt hears the word anyway. He steps closer to clasp Jaskier’s shoulder, expression indecipherable again.</p><p>“Oh, Jaskier. It’s not your fault.” Geralt sounds uncharacteristically gentle. “You had as much say in it as I did. Besides –”</p><p>Jaskier waits as hope rises in his chest. The amber gaze is fixed on his with intent and the warmth from Geralt’s hand seeps through the fabric onto his skin. The weight in Jaskier’s stomach is now replaced with the fluttering of butterflies.</p><p>“– I’ve become quite fond of seeing you – another you – from time to time. It’s not…unpleasant anymore.”</p><p>Jaskier releases a breath he doesn’t know he’s been holding.</p><p>“So you enjoy my company. Is that what you’re saying?” he teases.</p><p>Geralt grimaces. “I wouldn’t go that far.”</p><p>A laugh comes from Jaskier’s chest, free and easy. It brings a soft smile out of Geralt as well. Even Roach snorts in her stall behind them.</p><p>Jaskier licks his lips as he watches Geralt in the moonlight, his white hair reflecting a silver glow that frames his face. His golden eyes are still studying Jaskier with a curiosity. His lips –</p><p>Memories flood Jaskier’s mind, the hot humid air of an Oxenfurt greenhouse overwhelming his senses. Yes, those lips are soft and… <em>kissable</em>, as he knows from experience, however brief it was. His first kiss with Geralt stemmed from such desperation that he never had the chance to savor it. All he remembers now is the urgency, how they both sank into it within an instance and resurfaced in the next.</p><p>But now, they both stand under the tranquil winter sky. They would have the time to taste it, to memorize it. Heat climbs up Jaskier’s neck despite the freezing temperature. He leans in just a smidge. <em>Would it be improper if –</em></p><p>“How do you do it?” Geralt interrupts his daze.</p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>“How do you live like this, waiting by a lake, knowing destiny has full control over you? Knowing you cannot change anything.”</p><p>Jaskier registers the question. The golden eyes are inches away from him, full of uncertainty.</p><p>“Well, I’ve had practice, close to two decades now.”</p><p>“Two decades.” Geralt muses, a slight furrow forming between his brows. “Gods, Jaskier, you waited for so long. All those years, you waited for me.”</p><p>Geralt looks like the realization physically pains him. His breath deepens as he reaches out to cup Jaskier’s jaw, as if to steady himself.</p><p>“I had faith in you, Geralt.” Jaskier’s tone is firm. “The boy by the lake trusted that you would return, and you did.”</p><p>The large hand cradling Jaskier’s cheek is so warm against the chilly winter air, he cannot help but nuzzle into it. As much as Jaskier wishes to close the distance between them and lean into Geralt’s inviting body heat, erasing the doubt from those golden eyes is still his priority.</p><p>“As for your child surprise,” Jaskier continues, “they’ll be alright –”</p><p>“They are bound to <em>me</em>. A witcher. It would be the worst thing in the world.”</p><p>“Oh, Geralt, my darling Witcher. Why can’t you see it?” Jaskier puts as much sincerity behind his words, the love he’s been harboring for years now settling unwaveringly into his conviction. “To me, you were the best thing that’s ever happened. I can’t imagine it’ll be much different for that child.”</p><p>Geralt releases a shuddering breath, closes his eyes and presses his forehead to Jaskier’s. His thumb strokes gently up and down Jaskier’s jawline, drawing out goosebumps down his back.</p><p>“Jask, I –”</p><p>“If it’s more self-deprecating things, I suggest you hold your tongue, my dear. I won’t allow more terrible things said about my favorite witcher.”</p><p>Jaskier holds on to Geralt by his wrist, right above his pulse point. The slow rhythm beats soothingly under his fingertips when Geralt opens his eyes with something unreadable again, and something…more.</p><p>The soft curve of Geralt’s lips draws Jaskier’s attention again. A tongue sticks out to wet them as Jaskier mirrors the motion. Geralt’s heartbeat, albeit still slow, quickens under Jaskier’s touch, eliciting a soft gasp that breaks the silence.</p><p>Before Jaskier can react to his intentions being known, Geralt leans forward to capture his lips.</p><p>It starts out tentative, everything contrary to the heated urgency in Jaskier’s memory. There is no desperation behind this kiss, only newfound connection under the moonlight. Geralt sucks at his upper lip gently, drawing a soft moan out of Jaskier, before they both open up to deepen the kiss.</p><p>It is rich and heady like the finest Toussaint wine Jaskier shared with Essi during his first year at Oxenfurt. It makes his head spin, intoxicated.</p><p>The sweetness tugs at Jaksier’s heartstrings. He places both hands under Geralt’s ear, caressing the skin there with his frozen fingers.</p><p>“I don’t deserve you, Jaskier,” Geralt says reverently, pulling away from the kiss, their breaths still mingling.</p><p>Jaskier has to compose himself, panting from the unrelenting want.</p><p>“That’s not for you to decide.” he whispers, “Destiny has, long ago.<em> I have</em>, and I chose you. I will choose you every time.”</p><p>He meets the amber eyes, now open and vulnerable. There is something there, akin to the love that bubbles in Jaskier’s throat, but he dares not acknowledge it.</p><p>This time, Jaskier inhales and initiates the kiss.</p><p>The passion ignites inside him, their lips crashing in a mess. Their bodies are flush against each other, intertwining and moving in tandem. Geralt opens up so beautifully and openly and it makes Jaskier’s heart swell in his chest, bursting with adoration. The flick of his tongue teases another moan out of Jaskier, rendering him a boneless heap, barely hanging onto Geralt’s firm hold.</p><p>Jaskier can feel a hand working on the buttons at his collar as Geralt lets out a curse. “The one day you decide to button up your doublet, Jaskier.”</p><p>They both chuckle at the ridiculousness before Jaskier steadies Geralt’s hand. Pecking at the corner of his mouth, Jaskier tugs at him to move.</p><p>“We better move this inside.”</p><p>The wanting in the amber eyes is palpable. Jaskier’s eagerness brims as they franticly stumble into the entrance, up the stairs and into their shared room.</p><p>The heated entanglement of limbs and months resumes as soon as the door clicks shut. The warm lips sucking at Jaskier’s neck darkens his vision. He shudders thinking about the bruise that’s going to form come morning. Finally, after an eternity, Jaskier’s intricately embroidered doublet comes off.</p><p>“Are you sure?” A deep rumbling comes out of Geralt’s chest, his breath ghosting over Jaskier’s ear.</p><p>“Oh darling, I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.”</p><p>It happens in front of Jaskier’s dazed state. The lust and want in Geralt’s eyes shifts into a familiar gravity, an emotion he’s seen so many times.</p><p>It is an identical mirroring of his own bared emotions.</p><p>Oh.</p><p>He’s seen it somewhere else, in the older Witcher’s soft expressions, in the mirth of his eyes, in his comforting touch and his unwavering promises.</p><p>He understands now.</p><p>Jaskier knows he cannot voice it yet, not when Geralt is not ready.</p><p>No matter. Jaskier backs Geralt onto their bed, untying the hairband to let the silver waterfall flow between his fingers. He pours the emotion into his touches, his strokes, into the praises he whispers between biting faint marks down the plain of Geralt’s chest.</p><p>As Jaskier brings Geralt near the edge with his hand and mouth over and over, the certainty settles in his mind like a heavy blanket. It grounds him as release hits Geralt’s oversensitive body, which is now reduced to a barely coherent mess under Jaskier’s unrelenting care. He soon chases the bliss, letting the lapping waves of pleasure overtake him.</p><p>The heated passion recedes when they lie side by side afterwards. Jaskier gets up for a cloth to wipe away the sweaty mess on both their bodies, before snuggling back into bed and curl against his Witcher.</p><p>A relaxed smile quirks at the corner of Geralt’s mouth as he gathers Jaskier closer, settling him down on his chest. A soft purr rumbles under Jaskier’s ear as he looks up to see the witcher drift off.</p><p>Exhaustion urges Jaskier under, so he ends the day with one last look at Geralt’s contented features. A dreamless slumber descends before he knows it.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier barely has time to put down his lute when he’s tackled to the bed behind him. Within a second he is pinned to the mattress with an armful of a big, heavy witcher, who is currently crushing the breath out of him. By the time he comes to his senses, Jaskier is also hit with the heavy scent of alcohol in the air.</p><p>“My my, Geralt, what is going on? How drunk are you?” Jaskier asks, surprised by the unexpected behavior from his Witcher. To which Geralt only hums and buries further into his neck, while tightening his hold around Jaskier’s waist.</p><p>It’s not that displays of affection are so unusual for Geralt. Jaskier knows he is quite a tactile person. He’s always noticed it on his older counterpart, how the Geralt from his childhood never hesitated to hug him, how he constantly offered comfort with a squeeze on Jaskier’s wrist, how he conveyed his amusement by a bump of the shoulder as well as a smirk.</p><p>Since that fateful night in Cintra, they have had quite a few repeats of that night of passion. Neither man has put a name to whatever that is going on between them, nor did they promise any form of exclusivity.</p><p>Geralt has gradually put down the walls he built around himself. Their unspoken understanding allows Geralt to seek Jaskier out for comfort and relief, which the bard is more than willing to oblige.</p><p>It’s just when he does it, it’s a lot subtler than the full-on tackling that is happening right now.</p><p>“Um…my dear. Weren’t you supposed to be at the market? How did you get so drunk?” On second thought, Jaskier remembers that he went to the market hours ago. It never should have taken that long. “Did you…go somewhere?”</p><p>The implication is obvious. Neither he nor Geralt tends to disclose every one of their out-of-time chance encounters in detail, but very often they will check with each other just to keep track.</p><p>Geralt lets out a sigh, extracting his arms and props the elbows around Jaskier’s head.</p><p>“Talk to me, Geralt.”</p><p>The amber eyes are glazed by the effect of alcohol, his expression somber and dark.</p><p>“You were hurt,” he mumbles.</p><p>“Pardon?”</p><p>“Someone hurt you. In your home. I was there.” Geralt rests his head on Jaskier’s chest again, muffling his voice and the guilt that he cannot contain. “I couldn’t protect you.”</p><p><em>Oh</em>, Jaskier remembers the day as his forearms prickle with phantom pain<em>.</em></p><p>All those dark memories of Father and his punishments rush back like a flood, drawing a shudder out of Jaskier. His mind uncontrollably goes back to the times when he was beaten and bruised. Home offered no consolation so he could only run to the lake and nurse his hurt there.</p><p>No, Geralt couldn’t protect him from Father’s anger, but he stayed there for Jaskier when no one else did. He cleaned up Jaskier’s bruises and held him through all the sobbing. He murmured comforting words until Jaskier felt better.</p><p>Now he is pressed to Jaskier’s chest, two decades later. Guilt and misery roll off of him amidst the smell of cheap ale.</p><p>“Geralt, darling, look at me.” Jaskier aims to get his point across, so he lifts Geralt’s chin and their gazes meet. “It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have stopped him. It was…already done, a long time ago.”</p><p>“Wasn’t that long for me. I should have done more.”</p><p>“You did plenty. Just by being there, you made it better a million times.”</p><p>That seems to make it worse and Geralt grunts. “Gods, Jaskier, seeing you like that...”</p><p>“Is that why you decided to get smashed?” Jaskier’s heart breaks a little at the inebriated state Geralt is in.</p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p>A long pause. Geralt seems to have lost track of the conversation, so Jaskier tries again. “Still, I’m all right now.”</p><p>Upon hearing that, Geralt reaches down for one of Jaskier’s wrists and pulls it up. The sleeve reaches the middle of Jaskier’s palm but the fabric is easily pulled back to the elbow by Geralt’s smooth motion. His thumb starts drawing small circles on the inside of Jaskier’s wrist as he closely examines the unblemished skin there as if he might still find traces of abuse after all these years.</p><p>Geralt looks back at Jaskier hazily, his golden eyes wide. His large hand wraps around Jaskier’s wrist, pulls it closer and presses a gentle kiss there.</p><p>It’s chaste and featherlight, yet another shudder passes through Jaskier, for a very different reason this time.</p><p>Jaskier smiles at the softness displayed by his witcher and rolls them both over on their sides. The drunkenness is clearly overtaking Geralt since his eyes lose focus again.</p><p>“Gods, how much did you have to drink?” At this point, Jaskier is a little concerned for him. Getting this drunk during the day really is not common for Geralt.</p><p>“Some patrons. Bought me drinks. Your fans –” he hiccups, “liked last night’s performance.”</p><p>“All thanks to my beautiful songs about you, White Wolf,” Jaskier teases, “The songs you complain about so much.”</p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p>“They are the reason I could leave home, you know. Music, I mean. The whole traveling bard business.”</p><p>Jaskier tucks some hair away from Geralt’s forehead and proceeds to massage at the headache that must be forming. He is sure Geralt has stopped listening until he rumbles.</p><p>“They are not so bad.”</p><p>Jaskier chuckles. After all these years complaining about how ‘wildly untrue’ the lyrics are, all it takes is some wine to get Geralt to appreciate them. Well, that and a glimpse of Jaskier’s life before music.</p><p>Having decided to let Geralt rest, Jaskier slips away from the half-asleep witcher and gets back to his lute. Another song is churning in his mind, though this one might be too intimate for the public to hear.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“I wonder…”</p><p>“About what, Jaskier?”</p><p>Jaskier looks to his old friend, the long scar prominent on his cheek. He doesn’t get to see Geralt from another time very often these days – they are almost always traveling together since Cintra, only spending winters apart. The Pull rarely works its magic when they are together, but these short visits are nice nonetheless.</p><p>“I wonder if I would still have followed you, if you weren’t a time traveler, if I had met you only for the first time in that dingy tavern in Posada.”</p><p>“Can’t imagine why you would. We would have been strangers.”</p><p>“I don’t know. There’s a certain charm in a brooding witcher sitting in the corner by himself.” Jaskier cocks his head. “A handsome, mysterious man. Makes you curious. I certainly would have introduced myself.”</p><p>Geralt chuckles. “Handsome?”</p><p>“Mm-hmm.” Jaskier nods, leaning forward to peck casually at the corner of Geralt’s mouth. The short beard tickles Jaskier’s skin but he pays no mind.</p><p>Before Jaskier pulls back he hears a surprised 'oh' and realizes that Geralt’s posture has gone stiff. An alarm immediately blares in his mind.</p><p>“Oh, sorry. Is – is that alright?” Jaskier stumbles through his words. “I mean, you are from a far-away future. Are we still…er…still –”</p><p>“Jaskier,” Geralt smiles and eases his rambling. “It’s okay. It’s just…I’m not sure where you are at the moment. Things got complicated between us, for a while at least.”</p><p>“Oh.” Jaskier relaxes. “Cintra happened a year ago, so we are…good?”</p><p>Geralt hums with nostalgia in his eyes, clearly remembering the disaster of a banquet and what followed after.</p><p>This time Jaskier isn’t sure who initiated the kiss, but their lips meet again, sweet and gentle. Even after sharing countless kisses with Geralt, this one still manages to send Jaskier’s head spinning.</p><p>They both smile against each other before pulling away.</p><p>“We are good, Jask.”</p><p>Jaskier reaches up to caress the scar that runs across Geralt’s eye, the texture of the beard truly is wonderful under his palm. He is lost in the sensation when a word registers at the back of his mind.</p><p>“How is it going to get complicated?”</p><p>Letting out a sigh, Geralt takes Jaskier’s hands, places them in his lap and starts stroking the inside of his wrists. It’s a habit that he developed after finding out about the beating Jaskier received in his childhood. It’s almost like he’s trying to erase the hurt inflicted decades ago with his touch. Somehow, Jaskier thinks Geralt also does it to calm himself, to ground his thoughts with the repeated motion. It seems to always release some nervous energy whenever Geralt does it, so Jaskier is more than willing to offer the comfort even he’s not an active participant in this exchange.</p><p>It seems the same habit hasn’t been shaken after all these years.</p><p>Something warm spreads inside Jaskier as Geralt sighs again and relaxes.</p><p>“Jask,” the familiar baritone voice sounds comprehensive. “No matter what happens between us, I need you to promise me one thing.”</p><p>“What is it?” The suspense is making Jaskier fidgety, but he remains patient on the surface.</p><p>Geralt’s soft baritone voice carries a graveness. “I will make mistakes. And when I do…I know it’s selfish of me to ask, but when I do, Jaskier, don’t lose faith in me.”</p><p>Jaskier frowns at the ridiculousness of it. “Of course, I won’t, Geralt. I could never. I trust you with my life.”</p><p>“You don’t even know what I did.”</p><p>“I don’t need to because I know you. You are not perfect, sure, but you would never hurt me on purpose because you are a good man, Geralt. Just now you thought it was selfish just to ask me to have faith in you.” Jaskier holds on to Geralt’s hands and squeezes tightly. “It’s not. You could never be selfish with me because I’m willing to give you anything. Don’t you see?”</p><p>A pause stretches after Jaskier’s speech. The sadness is still present in Geralt’s expression, so Jaskier tries to lighten the mood. “Wait, how big of a mistake? Did you break my lute, Geralt? You know I love you but that just might be too much. If you break my lute I’ll never talk to you again.”</p><p>Jaskier feigns offense as a Geralt finally lets out a tight smile.</p><p>“You love me?”</p><p>Oh. Jaskier realizes what has slipped out without him even noticing. Of course, he loves Geralt, has been for years now, but saying it out loud is something else. He’s never said it to his Geralt yet, not sure if he is ready to hear it, but it came out so naturally to the older witcher. Once it’s out, the feeling settles solidly in his chest, easy as breathing.</p><p>“I mean, I haven’t said it at this point, but don’t you know?” Jaskier is sure there is no way he can hide his love for this ridiculous man for too long before proclaiming it. “Being from the future and all.”</p><p>Geralt grins stupidly, something sparkling in the sunlight of his irises. “All these years I thought I said it first.”</p><p>“Well, that’s time travel for you, darling,” he adds, “Or maybe it doesn’t count? Wait, of course it counts. I just declared my undying love for you, after all.”</p><p>“Whatever you say, Jask.” Geralt takes his hand and places a small kiss on his knuckles.</p><p>The butterflies return to Jaskier’s stomach, fluttering with contentment.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier doesn’t think about the ‘mistakes’ Geralt referred to, or the apologetic look on his face, until he is standing in front of a broken window in Rinde.</p><p>His blood runs cold, immobilizing him. Jaskier knows the elven healer is talking and dragging him away, but the words don’t register.</p><p>He leaves town as fast as he can, blood still soaked through the collar of his chemise. The image of Geralt under the terrifying – yet gorgeous – mage burns a hole in his mind. How their bodies moved together in the wrecked building had an elegant harmony in it. It was something that shouldn’t be disturbed.</p><p>Jaskier doesn’t know why he’s so upset by it. He shouldn’t be. He and Geralt never promised each other anything, never really speaking about whatever they have going on.</p><p>But Jaskier thought they’d been growing closer.</p><p>He remembers the way Geralt has softened around him, the way he has made room in his life just so Jaskier can fit into it comfortably, and the way Geralt would lay him down on their bedrolls under the starry night sky and take him with the utmost gentleness.</p><p>And now Jaskier walks alone, while Geralt chooses to stay with another.</p><p>Jaskier takes a deep breath to suppress the yearning in his chest and fails spectacularly. It is the same yearning that he’s been carrying for years, but now it twists while burying deep, hurting him more than any djinn magic ever can.</p><p>He gets roaring drunk.</p><p>The inn at the next town is small and filthy, the bar they have downstairs even more so. The ale and wine taste stale on his tongue, but luckily the barmaid does not even bat an eye at Jaskier’s bloody shirt. He is lost in a haze, floating mid-air, but the hollowness inside only expands.</p><p>Jaskier stands up and almost falls over when strong hands suddenly appear out of nowhere and catch him. Through the spinning of the world, he is hesitant to acknowledge the familiar amber eyes in front of him are not a figment of his too vivid imagination. Geralt stands tall, as always, his silver locks still loose like hours ago.</p><p>Tears well up in Jaskier’s eyes, distorting the concern on Geralt’s face.</p><p>“Jaskier! What are you doing?”</p><p>The alcohol makes him stagger, collapsing onto Geralt’s shoulder. Immediately arms wrap around his waist to steady him. These are the arms that Jaskier wishes more than anything else in the world to comfort him, but right now the touch only reminds him of the things that are out of reach.</p><p>A fragrance hits Jaskier’s senses, overwhelming the leather and pine he loves so much. What is it, lilac and…gooseberries? Oh. It is the same scent he woke up to, the scent of the mage working her magic and pressing a knife to his throat.</p><p>Jaskier struggles out of Geralt’s hold with a force, untangling their limbs so he can stand on his own, putting enough space between them. The confusion on Geralt’s face grows.</p><p>“Jaskier, how did you get this drunk?” Geralt retreats his hovering hand when Jaskier flinches away, not wanting to know that scent again. “Is your throat okay?”</p><p>“What?” Jaskier’s mind is in a cloud so he breathes to clear it, but the fog does not recede. Forming words is like walking in waist-deep water, frustratingly sluggish. In the blurred vision, the man in front of him looks nothing like the time-traveling friend he knows. “You are not him,” he slurs.</p><p>“You are not making sense, Jaskier.” Geralt tilts his head and tries to guide him away. “You should go to bed. Now.”</p><p>He really should, so Jaskier turns to go up the stairs to his room. Thank Melitele for the railings, or he sure would have faceplanted a few times just to walk up the one flight of stairs.</p><p>On his peripheral, he hears Geralt follow behind him, but not too closely. If he calls Jaskier’s name again, he pays no mind.</p><p>Jaskier swallows the lump in his throat when he steps into the room and immediately shuts the door behind him, not wanting to be in the same space as the man who’s been the source of his heartaches for the past twenty years. His breath hitches as the tears fall.</p><p>The thin wooden door Jaskier is leaning against muffles the sound outside. The witcher’s distinct footsteps falter in the hallway. Jaskier can feel his presence linger, hesitating, as if deciding if he should push open the door or not. In the end, the wooden floor creaks and the footsteps fade into the distance.</p><p><em>Good.</em> Jaskier thinks as he curls up in bed, alone.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier watches as Geralt gets drawn to Yennefer over and over again, like a moth to a flame. Each time they come across the sorceress, the witcher is swept away by the storm of her beauty and power, and each time he burns bright, for a moment.</p><p>Geralt will transform into a different person, smiling, ridiculously amenable, and trailing after her like a lost puppy. The golden eyes brighten as they meet the intoxicating violet, and there is no room for anyone else, at least for the few days they spent together.</p><p>Once she leaves in a whirlwind as she comes, it’s like energy saps out of him, leaving him in an even broodier mood. Deep in the depressed slump, Geralt’s sour mood is not even the usual irritating kind, the kind that causes Jaskier to pick a fight with him. He’s subdued and quiet, quieter than Jaskier has ever known him to be.</p><p>They burn bright, together. Then Geralt is left in the ashes, and Jaskier is the one to pick up the pieces.</p><p>He finds words to fill the hollow silence Yennefer leaves behind, futilely trying to distract Geralt from the self-pitying turmoil going on inside that stubborn witcher head. He bargains for food and board now that Geralt becomes more taciturn, sometimes not speaking for days on end. He wraps up the wounds that Geralt receives during too dangerous hunts, where he seems careless of his safety.</p><p>That’s another side-effect of their recurring affairs. Geralt grows frustrated and reckless, and when he does, a whole nest of manticores seems a reasonable contract to take on alone in the middle of the night with no plans.</p><p>Jaskier is furious when he stitches up the deep slashes across Geralt’s chest, but his hands remain steady. They will certainly scar, adding to the uneven tapestry of Geralt’s chest, a map of the dangers of the Path.</p><p>The truth is, Jaskier gets it. He understands the all-encompassing emptiness left behind when the thing you want more than anything in life slips in and out of your grasp on a whim.</p><p>He chuckles bitterly and shakes his head. He understands, but the fury bubbles up anyway because how dare Geralt be so careless with his own life. How dare he let himself be hurt and expect Jaskier to take care of the mess.</p><p>Tucking in the end of the bandage, Jaskier turns to collect their medical supply, avoiding any eye contact with Geralt. A warm hand catches his wrist with the barest force that he can break out of easily, the smeared blood sticky under the grip. He stops in his track.</p><p>“Jaskier –”</p><p>“I’m so mad at you right now,” he breathes.</p><p>Geralt’s thumb starts its familiar motion, drawing circles on the soft skin on the inside of Jaskier’s forearm. He leans closer, despite his chest, and presses a kiss to the corner of Jaskier’s mouth. It is an apology, a tentative question.</p><p>It is the first time Geralt has initiated anything since the djinn incident in Rinde, since Jaskier took a step back. It has been too long, the ache and longing pulling Jaskier apart every night when he sees Geralt’s sleeping form under the moonlight. But, no, Geralt can’t just kiss it better.</p><p>Jaskier allows himself one moment of weakness, reveling in the softness of his lips, before pulling away from Geralt’s reach. He takes a deep breath and walks to the window. The night sky is dawning, giving way to the glimmering daylight on the horizon.</p><p>“What were you thinking?” Anger brims out of Jaskier’s voice.</p><p>Geralt stays calm and placating. “I had it under control, Jaskier.”</p><p>“You had fuck all,” he hisses, “You were almost mauled to death by those beasts. When I got there…”</p><p>Jaskier lets out a shuddering breath, trying desperately to not think about Geralt’s lifeless body pinned by the dead manticore, or the blood oozing out of those gashes and soaking through his doublet.</p><p>Rationally, he knows Geralt will live through these injuries. After all, he has seen Geralt’s future self with his own eyes. Geralt will have to endure these scars and many more, including the one across his eye and the one that bothers his knee on rainy afternoons, but simply knowing it does not make it any easier.</p><p>“You can’t do this,” Jaskier turns to meet his gaze. “You can’t go into a fight without preparation. Gods, it was reckless. Four manticores and you went in without half of your potions. No, you are not allowed to do it again, ever.”</p><p>If Geralt had a trace of contrite in his eyes a moment ago, it is gone now.</p><p>“And who are you to say what is best for me?”</p><p>Jaskier stares at him, “I’m the one who patches you up when you are on death’s door, Geralt. I’m the one who’s <em>here</em>. I believe, somehow, that gives me a say in it.”</p><p>Irritation returns to Geralt’s features, the same broodiness that has plagued their travel for the past week since Yennefer left without a word.</p><p>“You don’t have to stay,” Geralt says.</p><p>That’s the problem, isn’t it? <em>Jaskier</em> is the one here, not the person Geralt really wants. And the comment just confirmed it.</p><p>They are near Oxenfurt. Jaskier can return to the university while Geralt travels on and return to his self-destructive behavior.</p><p>A grunt draws Jaskier’s attention. Geralt is struggling to put on a shirt, clearly still in pain. In the candlelight, he looks uncharacteristically defeated despite his broad chest and bulk. His slumped shoulders carry a weight that Jaskier is too familiar with – it is love not returned.</p><p>No, Jaskier will stay, as he always does.</p><p>He scoffs. Since he was eleven, Jaskier’s life has been a cruel joke destiny plays on him. He always stays, and Geralt always leaves him, over and over again. The cycle seems as unbreakable as the attraction between the sorceress and the witcher.</p><p>So Jaskier steps back to his side. “And who’s gonna keep an eye on you, you big oaf?”</p><p>No, he won’t leave, not unless Geralt asks him outright. He will never leave Geralt on his own accord, no matter how many times he lingers by the lake by himself, long after dark. No matter how often he has to witness Geralt fall for Yennefer, or how much it pains him to bear the fallout afterwards.</p><p>He will stay, until Geralt casts him aside.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>And he does.</p><p>On top of a mountain, with words bitter and cold.</p><p>The venom sinks into Jaskier’s very being. He feels resigned, too tired to put up a fight.</p><p>
  <em>Don’t lose faith in me.</em>
</p><p>The pleading echoes at the back of Jaskier’s as he trudges down the mountain, and for the first time in Jaskier’s life, he just might.</p><p>He walks past Roach and sneaks her the last of his sugar cubes. She lets him pet her mane before snorting and bumping him in the chest. The endearment only makes the departure harder.</p><p>“Good girl. I knew you always liked me. Sorry I have to go.” Jaskier lets out a wet chuckle. “Too bad it’s not up to you.”</p><p>A lump is forming in Jaskier’s throat, but his pride holds back the urge to cry. <em>He won’t cry again, not anymore.</em></p><p>Instead, anger rises in his chest.</p><p>Jaskier marches down the path with a lute in hand, a million different tunes coming to him as he strums and sings. All the songs have the same theme – uncontrollable, burning <em>fury</em>. He pours the unfairness into the venomous words in return, his hand plucking the strings with heated emotions.</p><p>He knows it’s petty if his tunes paint Geralt in a bad light, contrary to the image of the White Wolf he’s been constructing. At the back of his head, Jaskier knows he won’t sing these words in public. No matter how justified his anger is right now, he is never going to join the side of ignorant folk and throw more slanders at Geralt’s way.</p><p>Still, it is good to let it out of his system.</p><p>He walks all day until the sun sets, and he keeps walking.</p><p>Maybe Jaskier is lost in composing, or he has exhausted himself too much by walking non-stop that he doesn’t notice footsteps coming towards him.</p><p>“Jaskier.” the voice is familiar, the same voice that ran a proverbial sword through his chest this very morning. “I see you are in a mood.”</p><p>Jaskier is frozen on the spot. He can’t see his own expression, but he is sure it can only be described as ‘incredulous’. He keeps staring at Geralt’s face, his ridiculously handsome face, in stunned silence.</p><p>Geralt is wearing different armors, the armors from a few years ago. No, near a decade ago now. Jaskier remembers when the left shoulder plate broke in an encounter with a werewolf. The claws dug in deep and tore it to pieces.</p><p>Jaskier stares right at it, and then back to Geralt’s lone form. No Roach.</p><p>“That’s the longest I’ve seen you stay quiet.” Geralt teases with an upward quirk to his lips, oblivious to Jaskier’s internal turmoil.</p><p>This is a Geralt before…Rinde, before Yennefer.</p><p>
  <em>Oh.</em>
</p><p>Jaskier’s breath quickens, his heart pounding.</p><p>Geralt’s brows furrow. There’s a hint of worry in those amber eyes. The moonlight makes it hard to tell.</p><p>“What is wrong? Jask –”</p><p>“What is wrong?” Jaskier interrupts before Geralt can finish his question. With a few long strides, Jaskier moves towards the witcher until they are inches apart and pushes Geralt in the chest with all the force he can muster.</p><p>The shove does not seem to affect Geralt at all and only manages to send Jaskier stumbling back and almost falling. The indignation only fuels his anger, making him desperately want to scream.</p><p>“You don’t get to ask me what’s wrong.” he hisses while Geralt is looking more confused by the second, his amber eyes wide and curious. “You can’t just show up here acting all innocent and stare at me with your… big puppy eyes and – and demand answers from me.”</p><p>Jaskier is getting too worked up that his breathing quickens out of control, constricting his lungs.</p><p>“Jaskier, you need to calm down. You are hyperventilating.” The deep voice is distant and blurred. His mind turns dizzy when a warm hand comes up to steady him by the elbow and the other cradles his cheek.</p><p>Oh, how he misses those hands. He misses when they used to shower him with attention and gentleness, like they are now.</p><p>The dichotomy between the two emotions is jarring. Jaskier would have found it funny if he weren’t trying to get his breathing under control.</p><p>“Gods. What happened with you?” The concern does not leave the amber eyes, nor does the demanding question.</p><p>For the first time in Jaskier’s life, he does not want to find the words, so he pulls Geralt in for a bruising kiss.</p><p>It comes as more of a shock to himself than Geralt, who only pulls away for a split second for a muttered “fuck” before returning the kiss with fervor.</p><p>It is heated and demanding, the kind that leaves them both reeling from the sheer force of it. Jaskier’s anger still burns bright when he bites into Geralt’s lip at some point, which only brings out an aroused gasp from the witcher. Their limbs tangle as wandering hands seek bare skin everywhere they can reach.</p><p>Jaskier’s hands blindly pull at the buckles on Geralt’s armor when a larger hand covers his. Geralt halts his motion with a silent question. Their desperate panting mixes under the night sky.</p><p>“Take me here. Right here.” Jaskier rasps as he continues to take off the complicated armors.</p><p>“Fuck. Are you sure?” Geralt’s voice is already hoarse and dark with desire.</p><p>Jaskier answers by sucking a bruise on Geralt’s neck, right on his pulse point. Under his lips, the witcher’s slow heartbeat picks up a fluttering speed.</p><p>They find a patch of grass under a towering tree, obscured from the main road. The fresh smell of foliage fills Jaskier’s senses as Geralt brings him to a climax with his mouth. The stars in Jaskier’s vision recedes as they collapse next to each other, giving way to the constellation that shines through the leaves above.</p><p>In the dark, Geralt is still trying to figure Jaskier out. He reaches out again to tuck the mussed hair from Jaskier’s sweat-soaked forehead. Now that calm has replaced the earlier frenzy, the harsh words from the top of that mountain creep back into Jaskier’s mind, a stark contrast to the soft touch of Geralt’s fingers.</p><p>He flinches away.</p><p>Avoiding Geralt’s gaze, Jaskier starts collecting himself, straightening his crumpled clothes.</p><p>Rational clarity tells Jaskier that he shouldn’t have done it, as if the situation is not complicated enough. Yes, he is hurt by Geralt, but he is also unwanted.</p><p>He doesn’t know if it makes him vengeful or pathetic. Or is it both?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I've been feeling discouraged about this story lately. It seems Phoebe Waller-Bridge is right, writing is quite painful. :(</p><p>So a big thanks to anyone who commented, left kudos or bookmarked. Your encouragements make my day! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In the courtyard, flurries of snow fall steadily as Ciri disarms Geralt with a twist of her wrist, the heavier sword flying off to the side. She squeaks in excitement.<br/>“Take that, old man!”<br/>Geralt goes to collect his blunt weapon, his chuckle rumbling deep in his chest. “You only did it because I let you, Ciri. Your enemies are not gonna let you do this for practice.”<br/>Her pride morphs into a slight pout before it’s tucked away by her regal stance.<br/>“You just can’t let me have this one, can you?”<br/>“Yeah, old man,” Jaskier chimes in. “Just admit your loss. I’m sure the White Wolf should know when he’s beaten.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>In which Geralt tries to apologize and Roach is the best.<br/>There are no warnings for this chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>War breaks out.</p><p>Nilfgaard mercilessly scorches the continent, and Jaskier survives. The next time he sees Geralt, there’s a lost princess in tow.</p><p>The girl has pale blonde hair, just as Jaskier remembers from when he performed at her birthdays. Her green eyes are big and wary, staring at the bard from behind Geralt’s armored bulk.</p><p>Jaskier wouldn’t blame her, from what he learned from his encounters with Nilfgaard the girl must have been through hell. And from what he heard about Cintra, well, she has more demons to run from other than the evil army. She looks exhausted too, hair dirty and eyes alert, studying Jaskier intensely.</p><p>“You were at my birthday. You sang the songs.” The princess’s crisp voice breaks the silence.</p><p>“Yes, Princess Cirilla. I was at three of your birthdays, though you were too young to remember the first two.” he bows. “Jaskier the bard, at your service.”</p><p>She softens, nodding at Jaskier’s gesture. Her lips tug upward.</p><p>“Just Ciri.”</p><p>“Ciri, then.” Jaskier smiles at her.</p><p>“I loved your singing. It was beautiful.” she bites her lips, pausing, before putting her arm around the witcher’s. “Geralt only said we were looking for a friend. I didn’t know it was you.”</p><p>The mention of the name snaps Jaskier’s attention back to the witcher, who remains motionless and silent. This entire time, Geralt has been staring at Jaskier’s face, like he could blink and the bard would disappear. Jaskier stares back, and the bruise in his chest throbs anew.</p><p>“A friend, uh?” he feigns nonchalance and fails, suddenly his throat feeling dry. “Now you use the word, after all these years. Thought you’d keep insisting on not being my friend until the end of time. Thought I gave you life’s blessing –”</p><p>“Jaskier,” Geralt exhales. The word is barely a whisper, but it’s enough to stop the bard from landing a blow. The witcher doesn’t seem to have more words, despite continuing to look at Jaskier with remorseful sorrow.</p><p><em>Good</em>. The pettiest part of Jaskier thrills at his regret, after all he’s the one who spewed all the venom on top of that mountain.</p><p>But one look at Geralt, Jaskier realized that he is just as tired and disheveled as the girl, if not more so. Being on the run from Nilfgaard is no fun, he learned that from personal experience.</p><p>Knowing Geralt, he is going to neglect his needs in favor of Ciri’s, gritting his teeth through everything. Jaskier finds himself searching all over him for injuries, familiar worry bubbling of its own volition.</p><p>Jaskier cannot even stay mad at him for long. <em>Damn him</em>.</p><p>“Why are you looking for me then?” he asks.</p><p>“I –” Geralt pauses. “Nilfgaard is looking for us. Hunting us. They want something, and they are willing to raise armies to chase us across the Continent.”</p><p>He tightens his hold on Ciri. The young princess looks away with a haunted expression.</p><p>“And they are also trying to hunt down whoever might know your location. They’ll torture them for the information.” Jaskier adds. His two near escapes are too vivid in his mind. The first time he only got away by the skin of his teeth. It turns out he’s not so bad with a dagger when faced with two Nilfgaardian footsoldiers.</p><p>As for the second time, he may have had help from an old friend. Not that Yennefer would be thrilled if he ever called her that. <em>The story of his life</em>, he thinks, <em>it seems to be</em>.</p><p>Realization dawns in Geralt’s eyes. “You already know they are looking for you. Are you – did they get to you, Jaskier?”</p><p>“Get to me? No,” Jaskier chuckles tightly. “I wouldn’t be standing here, would I? Your secrets are safe, Geralt. Not that I knew your whereabouts for the past year. They didn’t get anything from me if that’s your worry.”</p><p>“No. Fuck –” Geralt curses under his breath, frustrated. “That’s not what I meant.”</p><p>“Then what <em>did</em> you mean?”</p><p>Jaskier challenges him, raising an eyebrow. Geralt struggles for words and starts to look like his usual brooding self again. It is Ciri who speaks up.</p><p>“Come to Kaer Morhen with us. It’s the safest place on the Continent,” the girl says.</p><p>Jaskier breathes, stunned. Of course, it makes sense for them to go. It is a home for Geralt. He remembers the first time Geralt told him about the witcher keep, in that greenhouse, a lifetime ago. To him, it is as much of a myth now as it was back then.</p><p>“You are sweet, Ciri. But I don’t think Geralt would want that.”</p><p>There’s a bitter tang in those words. Ciri scrunches up her brows, confused. “But he’s the one who wanted –”</p><p>“What Ciri meant,” Geralt interrupts, “was that Nilfgaard is still out there looking for us. When they can’t, they’ll come for you again.” Desperation bleeds into his tone. Or is it annoyance? “Come with us, Jask. You’ll be safe in Kaer Morhen.”</p><p>“I can take care of myself.” Jaskier’s resolution is swaying despite his pride.</p><p>“Jaskier…”</p><p>“Geralt.” He stays emotionless, waiting for the Witcher’s reasoning, but it doesn’t come.</p><p>It is the lost Cintran princess who decides for Jaskier.</p><p>“Can you just come with us?” her voice is uncertain, and it tugs at Jaskier’s heart. “Please?”</p><p>Jaskier looks into her green eyes and only sees the loss she endured. The fall of Cintra reached Jaskier like a punch in the gut. He thought Geralt’s Child Surprise – the bright-eyed little girl who danced to his songs – was lost with it, so when those soldiers started questioning him about her escape, Jaskier only felt relief. Now, the lone wolf stands protectively next to the lost lion cub.</p><p>Jaskier is glad Geralt went to find her, truly.</p><p>He finds himself nodding, and Ciri brightens up ever so slightly.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“So, you are the boy?”</p><p>The dark-haired witcher says upon meeting Jaskier for the first time at the gate of Kaer Morhen when Geralt and Ciri have gone to stable the horse. He’s the same height and build as Geralt, only his shoulders are just a bit wider. Unlike Geralt, his hair is a muddy brown, and three nasty scars run down the right side of his cheek, making him look almost grotesque.</p><p>“Pardon?”</p><p>“The boy Geralt kept seeing.” His eyes fix on Jaskier with amusement, the golden color eerily identical to Geralt’s.</p><p>“Oh, I didn’t know anyone else –” Jaskier is rather surprised that another witcher knows about Geralt’s condition. “Yes, that’s me. But I’m hardly a boy anymore.” He extends a hand. “Jaskier.”</p><p>“Eskel.” The Witcher takes it with a friendly smile. <em>Huh</em>, not all of them are broody and rude.</p><p>“So you know about our…” Jaskier trails off for lack of a descriptor. Their bond? Their relationship? They certainly are not in one.</p><p>“Not much. If you’ve known my brother for this long, you’d know how little he talks.” Eskel offers an understanding pat on Jaskier’s back. “He just came back here one year and couldn’t shut up about an annoying bard. Then he came back another year. Disappeared in the middle of the day and scared the shit out of us. We’d thought he was cursed out of existence by some angry mage. When he came back, out of thin air too, he looked like he’d seen a ghost.”</p><p>“Not a ghost.”</p><p>“Not a ghost, only the same bard. As a boy.”</p><p>It makes sense, according to however little they know about the mechanism of it. Wintering at the witcher keep is the longest Geralt is away from the bard, so destiny has to drag him to Lettenhove. It would be hard to sail away from your anchor.</p><p>“Guess I’m too much of a nuisance. He can’t escape me even here, in his own home.”</p><p>“He never –” Eskel seems surprised at Jaskier’s remark. “I might need to have words with my brother, bard. And he was only upset because he worried for your safety.”</p><p>He smiles tightly. “It’s kind of you to say, Eskel. Though you don’t need to protect my feelings. I understand now. I would take myself off of his hands if I could.”</p><p>Too bad he can’t. Even if the invasion blows over, destiny would still work against Geralt’s attempt at free will at every opportunity.</p><p>He ignores Eskel’s inquisitive eyes as they stroll into the stone castle when Geralt and Ciri rejoin them.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Geralt is trying to apologize.</p><p>He knows by the way Geralt follows him outside, and onto the trail behind the keep, somehow with guilt written all over his posture. It’s a nice place for a walk and for Jaskier to clear his head and compose under the pine trees.</p><p>Geralt has tried several times in the past few days. Every time they are left alone, the witcher assumes an expectant look on his face and begins to find words. Every time Jaskier interrupts him before it starts, making up whatever poor excuses he can find. Every time Geralt swallows and lets him go. He puts on a stoic face but Jaskier always sees the disappointed droop in those amber eyes that anyone else would have missed.</p><p>Jaskier can’t avoid it anymore, between the fresh smell of pine – his favorite scent in the world – and the sky, there’s nowhere to hide, so he stops to face it.</p><p>“Just say whatever you want to say,” he lets out a sigh.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Geralt blurts out without a beat. “I never should have said what I said. I didn’t mean any of it, Jask. I was upset and I took it out on you. It wasn’t fair.”</p><p>Jaskier blinks.</p><p>“No, it wasn’t.”</p><p>“You’ve followed me for twenty years. You’ve known me for even longer. Fuck, Jaskier. Your whole life, you’ve known me, and yet you chose to stay.”</p><p>“I did,” he whispers, “but you tried to push me away, like everything else destiny forced upon you.”</p><p>The hurt in those golden eyes is unbearable to watch, so Jaskier averts the burn of his gaze to take a deep breath. The smell of pine fills his lungs, crisp and soothing.</p><p>“It was a mistake. I know that now, Jaskier.” The contrite is unmistakable. Geralt’s gravelly voice is as pained as Jaskier feels. From the corner of his eyes, Jaskier notices Geralt reach into his pocket for something. It is a small notebook, leather-bound and abused at the edges.</p><p>It’s his notebook.</p><p>It’s <em>their</em> notebook.</p><p>“I’ve kept records of everything, just like you did.” he holds out the book for Jaskier to take. “I’ve seen the future, you –”</p><p>“No!” Jaskier steps away as if the book might burn him. “You can’t use it against me, Geralt. You think I’ve never seen the future? I know where we are going. I know I’ll still choose you, because how can I not?” his voice breaks at the possibility of him leaving Geralt by choice. “But it doesn’t make it alright. I can’t just forgive you and pretend we are fine, just because the future says we should be.”</p><p>Geralt lowers his hand and the book with it. “I meant that…I understand you now. Why you would stand by me when no one else does, when it’s so much easier to just leave.”</p><p>“And how exactly did you arrive at this grand revelation?”</p><p>Geralt softens, his lips quick upward ever so slightly. “I saw you. In a little cottage by the sea, years from now, <em>happy</em>.”</p><p>Jaskier’s breath hitches. He’s so used to knowing all different versions of Geralt, so used to having the upper hand in this little dance, that the idea of his own future laid out like this makes him queasy.</p><p>“You told me – or will tell me, rather – why you spent your entire life choosing me when I’ve done nothing but push you away.” Geralt’s voice breaks at the obvious regret in it.</p><p><em>Because I love you</em>, Jaskier thinks.<em> I’ve loved you for too long</em>.</p><p>He’s become so familiar with the notion it’s as easy as breathing.</p><p>“What do you want, then?”</p><p>“A chance. To prove myself again,” Geralt pleads. “To prove myself a worthy companion to you. Because you are my friend, my best friend. You have been since you were so young, and I was just blind to it. Jaskier, I –”</p><p><em>I love you</em>.</p><p>“– I choose you too. If you’ll let me show you. For the rest of my life, I’ll prove it to you every day, because I –”</p><p><em>I love you</em>.</p><p>“– I love you.”</p><p>The words come out soft and reverent, the whisper so careful as if to avoid the birds overhearing him. Geralt stills after the confession, his eyes fixed on Jaskier in earnest.</p><p>For a moment Jaskier believes the declaration an echo of his imagination, conjured up from years of longing and heartbreak. But when he holds his breath and looks into Geralt’s resolved eyes, the truth washes over him like a cool shower on an autumn morning.</p><p>Deep in those ember eyes is the same affection he’s seen many times, during those too-short visits from his older Geralt, in the teasing smirks he carried at the corner of his mouth, or in the sweetness hidden behind his kiss, under a cold Cintran sky and addled by too much ale. It’s in the way Geralt takes him apart with deft fingers and gentle touches, over and over again throughout the years.</p><p>It’s the same love that propelled Geralt to ask for his trust and his faith when this moment comes.</p><p>“You love me.” Jaskier muses.</p><p>“I do. I have… for a while now.” Geralt’s breath forms in the crisp mountain air. “I understand if you don’t feel the same way, Jask. But please believe me when I say it. <em>I love you</em>. It’s the truest feeling I’ve ever felt in my life. Without any djinn magic, or destiny deciding what’s best. Please, at least have this much faith in me.”</p><p>After all this time Geralt still thinks it’s possible for Jaskier to not love him back.</p><p><em>I’m going to make mistakes</em>, the older Geralt once said, <em>don’t lose faith in me</em>.</p><p>He made a promise after all.</p><p>“Okay,” Jaskier exhales.</p><p>“Okay?”</p><p>When he looks into the amber glow again Geralt looks expectant.</p><p>“Okay,” Jaskier repeats, “You have it. A chance for us to try again if you want it to go back to… before.”</p><p>Geralt exhales like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. “It won’t be like before. I’ll do better, I give you my word.”</p><p>The sincerity is palpable in Geralt’s expression. The words come out so solemn and he’s clenched his jaw tightly. It looks like he just might break something if Jaskier doesn’t give him an out.</p><p>A smiles tugs at the corner of Jaskier’s mouth. <em>And they say he’s the dramatic one</em>.</p><p>“Oh, relax, you big oaf, before you hurt yourself. Of course I believe in you. It might be the most words I’ve ever heard from you. Didn’t think it was possible.”</p><p>He pats Geralt on the arm, before resting his hand there and squeezes. If Geralt leans into the touch, he doesn’t mention it.</p><p>“You,” Jaskier continues, “You are forgiven, Geralt. I’ve always known I’d forgive you. You are not the only one who’s seen the future. Even if fate didn’t tell me to, I would still know you to be the best man I’ve ever laid eyes on, and I would choose to stay by your side every time.”</p><p>The shuddering breath that chokes out Geralt’s throat is almost like a sob. Rumors say witchers can’t cry, but Jaskier learned it not to be true long ago, and he can see how much Geralt is affected right now.</p><p>He reaches out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind Geralt’s ear before resting his hand on the spill of silver on his shoulder, and revels in the familiar feeling of silky hair against his palm.</p><p>“As for the other thing.” Jaskier thinks back on Geralt’s heartfelt confession, not sure if he has truly wrapped his head around it. “I think… I’ll need some time before we can do something about it.”</p><p>Geralt nods, his warm hand coming up to capture Jaskier’s wrist in a loose grip, the pad of his thumb stroking slightly again. Jaskier’s chest warms at the motion.</p><p>“Take all the time you need, Jask. I’ll be right here.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>They spend the winter in the keep, in this safe bubble they created.</p><p>Ciri’s progress is obvious even to Jaskier’s untrained eyes. Her stance becomes more confident every day, her moves faster. The clanking of blunt swords echoes above the training ground as Jaskier watches from a bench in the corner, plucking his lute absent-mindedly.</p><p>The lion cub is starting to look like her grandmother, with her hair tied back and the sword cutting through the air with force.</p><p>The rise in confidence is doing her wonders. Her smile is becoming more often as winter settles in. The first time Ciri laughed out loud at the usual tomfoolery Lambert starts at dinner table, all four witchers and Jaskier stopped to stare at her for a brief moment before joining in.</p><p>Later that night, Geralt got emotional when it was just him and Jaskier, cleaning up in the kitchen.</p><p>“It’s just… it’s the first time I’ve heard her laugh.” Geralt’s throat bobbles when he says, and Jaskier’s heart breaks for them both, so he takes the plates from the Witcher’s hands and pulls him in for a hug, one that’s a little too tight.</p><p>In the courtyard, flurries of snow fall steadily as Ciri disarms Geralt with a twist of her wrist, the heavier sword flying off to the side. She squeaks in excitement.</p><p>“Take that, old man!”</p><p>Geralt goes to collect his blunt weapon, his chuckle rumbling deep in his chest. “You only did it because I let you, Ciri. Your enemies are not gonna let you do this for practice.”</p><p>Her pride morphs into a slight pout before it’s tucked away by her regal stance. <em>They’ll make a warrior princess out of her after all</em>.</p><p>“You just can’t let me have this one, can you?”</p><p>“Yeah, <em>old man</em>,” Jaskier chimes in. “Just admit your loss. I’m sure the White Wolf should know when he’s beaten.”</p><p>From Geralt’s glare, Jaskier knows he’s enjoying this too much, but he just can’t get the proud grin off of his face. Ciri sends him a smug smile when she puts away her weapon and gears.</p><p>From a distance, Lambert and Eskel are sheathing their training swords as well when Jaskier notices the snow falling harder by the minute, sending a shiver through his body despite the heavy coat wrapped around him. Ugh, his fingers are numb now.</p><p>“All right?” Geralt is all packed up, cheeks flushed from the exercise. He’s only wearing a simple tunic and yet it looks like the cold does not affect him at all. <em>Ridiculous witcher biology</em>.</p><p>Mischief lights up in Jaskier’s mind when he puts down the lute and walks towards Geralt, before putting his freezing palms flush against the Witcher’s neck.</p><p>“Jaskier, what – Fuck!”</p><p>He expects Geralt’s usual grunts and retaliation at the blatant offense. Roughhousing has never been a stranger to them, especially now that they are at ease in their friendship again.</p><p>What he does not expect is the concern that appears in Geralt’s eyes after a moment of shock and the warm hands that gently cover his.</p><p>“Oh Jask, you are freezing.” Geralt’s brows furrow in seriousness, calloused fingers starting to rub the back of Jaskier’s hands in a slow rhythm. Now that he notices, the heat radiating off of Geralt’s skin is lovely, tingling the numbness in his rigid hands and sending a different kind of shiver down his spine. “Gods, you might get frostbite like this. Don’t you have gloves?”</p><p>“Er – that’s not…” Jaskier stammers, suddenly aware of their closeness and the lack of everyone else on the training ground. Thank fuck they’ve all gone inside before his foolish prank. “I – I lost them…?”</p><p>Now Jaskier is the one blushing, but Geralt pays no mind to his embarrassment and continues to rub heat back into his exposed skin.</p><p>“I’ll make you new ones then. Can’t let a lutist lose his fingers,” Geralt murmurs.</p><p>The urge to kiss this sweet man is overwhelming, Jaskier has to look away from the beautiful golden yellow to calm his fluttering heart. It’d be too soon. He’s still raw from what went down in the past year.</p><p>Thankfully Ciri calls for them to get inside before they freeze over. Jaskier pulls away to answer her, immediately feeling empty without the warm touch. Now he’ll settle for walking to the great hall where a hearth is lit with Geralt by his side.</p><p>A week later, Jaskier finds a pair of newly knitted gloves on his bed. They are made with Geralt’s favorite wool – a thick, soft material – and fingerless so he can play. When he slips them on, the urge to track Geralt down in the keep and kiss him all over fills him again.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Roach bites down on the second apple Jaskier offers her and munches gracelessly.</p><p>Jaskier pats her mane while she tries to chew off the fringe on his doublet. Now that he’s reunited with her master, Jaskier can spoil the mare as much as he wants. Not that anyone objected before. The mare clearly has a soft spot for the bard, Geralt is just too stubborn to admit it.</p><p>He is just saying goodbye to Roach when the familiar swoosh of magic startles him.</p><p>Destiny’s pull rarely works when they are together, so much so that Jaskier has almost forgotten about it for the months he’s within Kaer Morhen’s walls. On top of that, what greets him is not the bulk of a witcher.</p><p>Standing by the stalls is a scared little boy.</p><p>Jaskier is terrible with guessing children’s age, but this boy is definitely no more than six or seven, wearing plain summer clothes and holding a small bucket for dear life. The boy has a head full of dark curly hair and tears streaking down his cheeks. His brown eyes are wide and full of terror.</p><p>“Ma? Where are you?” he calls out, voice hoarse from crying.</p><p>Jaskier is stuck where he stands, too shocked to react. Somewhere next to him, Roach snorts nervously at the volume of the child’s cry.</p><p>Geralt once told him how he ended up in Vesemir’s care, when both of them had too much to drink on the eve of Belleteyn many years ago. They only meant to celebrate a hunt well done and Jaskier’s successful performance at the festival, but the drinks kept coming on the courtesy of the pub owner. Before Jaskier knew it, the Witcher was too gone and started to get melancholic in his inebriation.</p><p>For once in their lives, Jaskier was the one with some sanity left and promptly put Geralt back to their shared bed.</p><p>With the sound of people singing and dancing around bonfires in the distance, Geralt curled into himself, looking uncharacteristically small, and told Jaskier the last time he saw his mother.</p><p>“I stood there for so long, by the road. But she was gone,” Geralt slurred the words. “I kept waiting for her…”</p><p>Those words, combined with too much ale, broke Jaskier into a million pieces.</p><p>“It was so long ago. I don’t even remember what she looks like, the color of her eyes. Or my eyes, before…What was the color of my eyes?”</p><p>Jaskier had no answer.</p><p>That night, he listened as Geralt drifted off, thinking the witcher would forget about the confession come morning. Or was it Geralt who thought Jaskier never remembered? No matter what reason, Geralt never talked about it again and Jaskier respected that.</p><p>And here Geralt is, no more than seven, on what is probably the worst day of his life – having just been abandoned by his mother by the side of the road. He looks confused and cried-out, still clinging to the bucket so hard that his tiny knuckles are turning white.</p><p>His eyes are <em>brown</em>.</p><p>That’s all Jaskier can think.</p><p>The boy’s tears keep falling, and whatever heartbreak Jaskier felt on the night of Belleteyn, it’s not a match for now.</p><p>“Hey, it’s all right,” Jaskier shushes as gently as possible. He lowers himself in front of the boy, keeping the movement slow just to not upset him further. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”</p><p>“Where is my ma?” young Geralt sniffles, and Jaskier doesn’t know how to answer that. The layers he’s wearing clearly cannot hold out the cold in the dead of winter. The boy is shivering.</p><p>“I’m sorry I don’t know where she is. But, here, put this on.” Jaskier shrugs off his coat and wraps it around the boy’s small frame, half of it pooling on the ground. He tries to coax the bucket out of the boy’s hands but he grips tighter.</p><p>“Where is she? Where did you take me?” the boy demands in panic.</p><p>“I promise I haven’t taken you anywhere, okay? Ger –” Jaskier catches himself. He’s a complete stranger to the child. He shouldn’t know him. “It’s too cold out here. We can go inside and wait for her there. Is that all right?”</p><p>The boy shakes his head. “Ma’s coming back to find me. I need to stay.”</p><p>“Okay, okay.” Jaskier tries not to panic, but he feels so helpless. He doesn’t even know where to put his hands, so he tightens the coat around the boy’s shoulders. “How about this, I’ll find some help for us. Maybe someone from that castle can help. I don’t even know what would happen if they see you like this but…what other option do we have, eh?”</p><p>Before he can even get up, Jaskier finds the boy dropping the bucket and clinging to the sleeve of his doublet, the water spilling everywhere.</p><p>“No, don’t leave,” the boy says weakly, “Please.”</p><p>The boy’s chubby cheeks are streaked with tears, turning red in the mountain air. Jaskier wipes the wetness away with the pad of his thumb, his other arm still in the boy’s grip.</p><p>“All right. I won’t leave then, I promise.” Jaskier does his best to smile reassuringly. The ache in his chest makes it difficult but against all odds, it works. The young boy calms down just a little.</p><p>“I’ll stay with you, all right? But for now… do you want to make some new friends?”</p><p>Jaskier introduces the child to Roach, and he gets less afraid as soon as he sees the horse and reaches out to pet her. With their ridiculous height difference, it looks almost comical. The mare, ever the sweetheart, lowers her head as if she senses something familiar in the boy. She nuzzles his little hand and his eyes light up.</p><p>No matter how young, it seems Geralt will always enjoy Roach’s company above anyone else’s. Jaskier watches in wonder at the exchange before him. The boy’s distress dissipates gradually as the mare licks him and showers him in affection.</p><p>“Can I keep her?” the child giggles as Roach chews on his hair.</p><p>Jaskier smiles, “Sadly no, but maybe you’ll see her again. Who knows.”</p><p>All his life, Jaskier has known Geralt as the powerful witcher, his friend and protector. But right here, he’s just another ordinary child who loves giant animals. Only his future holds something no child should ever have to endure.</p><p>Jaskier wishes life wouldn’t have to burden this gentle boy, harden him into the warrior that he is now. This moment could last forever for all he cares, so this young boy wouldn’t need to go back to face the path ahead.</p><p>He doesn’t know how long they have here, undisturbed by the four witchers inside the keep, or the magic pulling them apart.</p><p>“Can I tell you something?” Jaskier says as the child runs his fingers through Roach’s mane. He turns around to look at the bard curiously with his beautiful brown eyes. “Do you know you’re a very good boy? And when you grow up, you’ll become a very good person.”</p><p>“Ma says I should do good.”</p><p>“She’s right.”</p><p>“And doing good is hard… sometimes.”</p><p>Jaskier swallows the lump in his throat. “That too. Life is difficult, unfair even. But you are strong, stronger than you’ll ever believe. Remember this, and you’ll find a way.”</p><p>“I’m strong?” the boy looks at Jaskier expectantly. His tiny frame is drowned in Jaskier’s coat.</p><p>“The strongest.” the bard nods.</p><p>“Like a knight?”</p><p>“Better than a knight.”</p><p>The smile that lights up the boy’s rosy cheeks is the most wonderful thing Jaskier has ever seen, better than the northern lights on these mountains. But their moment seems to have come to an end.</p><p>The swoosh of magic Jaskier knows by heart brushes by his ear, and Roach suddenly brays anxiously in her stall.</p><p>“I feel weird.” The panic returns to the boy’s voice.</p><p>“It’s okay. It means we have to say goodbye.”</p><p>“Are you leaving?”</p><p>“Never.”</p><p>“But why do we have to say goodbye?” his tiny voice gets tight and scared once more. Jaskier shushes him gently.</p><p>“Because we’ll see each other again.”</p><p>“And horsie too?”</p><p>“Her too.” Jaskier nods solemnly.</p><p>The boy waves nervously at Jaskier, and then the mare. His big brown eyes bore into Jaskier’s with hope and trust, a trust that will be returned decades from now, for him at least.</p><p>“Goodbye.”</p><p>Once again, Jaskier is left alone. Snow falls silently in the courtyard like it has been for days.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The rest of the day passes in a blur. Jaskier goes through dinner without a word, no matter how the four witchers try to engage with him.</p><p>Eskel is his usual self, nice and respectful, not prodding after noticing Jaskier in a weird mood. It’s something Lambert physically cannot do, because he constantly asks Jaskier what is wrong, trying to get a response out of him.</p><p>“You smell miserable, buttercup, like you are about to pass out.”</p><p>Jaskier imagines the tight smile he offers is not the most convincing, since everyone only gets more concerned. Ciri puts her hand on his arm as a silent question, and when she can’t get an answer she starts brooding just like Geralt.</p><p>Jaskier would laugh at their likeness if not for his mind racing so fast.</p><p>Geralt must have noticed the moment he came back from the stables. He has not let Jaskier out of his sight since, his worry silent but not pushing. After dinner, Jaskier can still feel the weighted gaze on his back, following him all the way back to the bedroom.</p><p>He leads Geralt into his room at the end of the hallway and shuts the door. With a soft click of the door, Jaskier turns to throw himself at the witcher with a force that would have knocked over any other man, but Geralt only catches his momentum, solid and steady. He buries his nose into Geralt’s shoulder and lets the familiar smell of pine and soap fill his senses.</p><p>“What’s wrong, Jaskier?” Geralt’s voice rumbles out of his chest, deep and patient. “You know, Lambert was right. You smell so…sad.”</p><p>“I made you a promise.” Jaskier’s voice is muffled by Geralt’s shoulder.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I made you a promise. Years ago for me, and years from now for you. To always have faith in you, even when you make mistakes.” Jaskier extracts his limbs and looks into the confusion in the flowing amber. He presses their lips together, sweet and lingering, like they have all the time in the world. The kiss tastes like the lost years between them, all the laughter and heartaches, the lust and yearning, and the dust and smoke from war. He pulls away.</p><p>The last time he kissed Geralt, it was by the side of a road, full of rage and hurt. This time, it’s hope that rises like a winter sun, cozy but not sweltering.</p><p>“This is me keeping that promise.”</p><p>“Jaskier,” Geralt swallows, composing himself, “You know I won’t hold it against you. It’s not fair for you to be pressured into this just for something I haven’t asked of you yet. I meant it when I said you can take all the time you need, because I did fuck up, and I’m so –”</p><p>“Don’t apologize again,” Jaskier interrupts, “I know how sorry you feel, how you’ll still feel even years from now. Just – don’t.”</p><p>He presses his forehead to Geralt’s and they breathe in tandem. Maybe he’s still affected by the memory of Geralt as a child, scared and alone, unaware of the hurt he’s about to receive. The trials, growing up away from home, training to become a weapon, the glares people cast at him. Jaskier shudders to think, desperately needing to shield his witcher from the world, but he was powerless in the stable this afternoon. He is not powerless now.</p><p>“How about a promise you did hear from me?” he asks.</p><p>Geralt frowns in confusion, waiting for him to explain, so Jaskier cups Geralt’s jaw to study him again, his thumb resting exactly where he wiped tears off of the boy hours ago.</p><p>“They were brown.”</p><p>The confusion in the amber eyes only grows.</p><p>“Your eyes, before the trials. They used to be brown.”</p><p>Geralt still looks at him incredulously. When it comes out like that, Jaskier probably sounds crazy.</p><p>“Your mother left you by the side of the road. She told you to get water, and when you got back she was gone,” he swallows, “You waited, holding a bucket of water. You waited until you went somewhere else. Somewhere cold, there’s a horse and snow and –”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>Realization dawns on Geralt like a lightning strike. He stares at Jaskier in disbelief.</p><p>“All these years –” he whispers, “How is it possible? I thought it was a dream. Vesemir told me it was a dream, that I was in so much shock that I conjured it up in my mind. A horse in the snow, chestnut brown, and…”</p><p>“And me,” Jaskier almost chokes out, “It wasn’t a dream.”</p><p>Geralt looks pained. All this talk about that day must be dredging up terrible memories and Jaskier never wants to hurt him on top of that.</p><p>“Do you remember what I said before you went back?”</p><p>To which Geralt chuckles tightly.</p><p>“That whole day was a bit hazy in my memory, Jask. Vesemir was right in that I was in shock. And I’ve tried so hard to forget about that day, to bury it so I don’t have to think about it.” he holds on to Jaskier, studying him in a new light. “I just remember that you made me feel so warm, Jask. You were the only good thing on the worst day of my life.”</p><p>The ache in Jaskier’s chest lessens somehow at those words. For whatever reason destiny decided to weave their fates together, he’s grateful for it just for that moment’s solace alone.</p><p>“You knew you were leaving.”</p><p>“I did. Now that I know, it was the first time I ever got pulled through time. To you.”</p><p>“I did promise we would see each other again.” Jaskier smiles.</p><p>Geralt pauses for a moment. Gradually, the golden yellow lights up like the most beautiful constellation in the night sky.</p><p>“You promised to never leave me.”</p><p>This time when their lips come together, it’s quiet and natural, like a piece of puzzle falling into place. Jaskier backs Geralt towards the bed, and they almost fall over onto the mattress, breaking the contact.</p><p>Geralt chases him with heated fervor, to which Jaskier gladly returns with a soft moan. He’s missed his witcher after all. Any space separating them at this moment needs to be closed like it personally offends him.</p><p>Tomorrow morning, Jaskier will wake Geralt with fingers through his hair and lips pressed to his forehead. Tomorrow Jaskier will tell him how much he loves him, over and over again. It won’t be the first time Jaskier has uttered the words, but it will be the first affirmation Geralt receives. Tomorrow Geralt will crinkle his eyes and return the words sleepily while dragging Jaskier back under the covers.</p><p>Tomorrow they’ll start a new chapter, together.</p><p>For now, they fall into each other under the night sky of the Blue Mountains, in a small room with a roaring fire burning in the hearth, tucked away from destiny and heartbreak.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Baby Geralt in the show broke my heart and I just wanted someone to wrap him in blankets and hug him :(<br/>Anyway this story has become longer than I ever planned. I’ve decided to split it into two sections. Part one has already drawn a (temporary) conclusion to their journey. It will be finished with the fifth chapter, which is a short epilogue. Our favorite sorceress will make an appearance and bring some unexpected news.<br/>Writing has become somewhat difficult for me lately, and all of you who were with me through this have been so helpful. I see you in the comments and I appreciate you! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Yennefer arrives at Kaer Morhen. Jaskier receives news from home and makes a decision. Geralt is willing to follow him anywhere.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>With this update the first half of this story is official over, Hooray!</p><p>Many things from the second part have already been hinted at due to the time-traveling nature of the story, so stay tuned!</p><p>Content warning: this chapter mentions past abuse.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Yennefer comes in a whirlwind of buzzing magic, a portal opening up in the middle of the empty courtyard, blowing up the melting snow everywhere.</p><p>Of course she can come through the protective ward around the keep like it’s nothing.</p><p>She steps onto the ground of Kaer Morhen with her usual poise, all shiny raven curls and sparkling eyeshadows, breathtaking as ever. Only her proud demeanor shifts into something marginally softer when those enchanting violet eyes fall on Ciri.</p><p>The princess approaches the sorceress in tentative steps, before picking up the pace and running into her embrace. Yennefer is visibly taken aback by the sheer force of it but soon gives back a loose hug. The girl, being a head shorter than Yennefer, steps back and smiles brightly.</p><p>“I saw you in my dreams.”</p><p>Those violet eyes become more curious.</p><p>Beside Jaskier, Geralt’s voice rumbles deeply. “Yen, this is Ciri. My Child Surprise.”</p><p>The corner of her lips quicks up. “Nice to meet you, Ciri.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>In the main hall, Jaskier sits in front of the fire and watches the three of them talk quietly at the table.</p><p>A lost princess with immeasurable chaos in her body, a witcher who protects humanity with nothing but two swords on his back, and a sorceress so powerful she scorched an entire Nilfgaardian army all by herself.</p><p>They make a perfect family, beautiful, powerful, and well-matched.</p><p>Lost in thoughts and the wine in his cup, Jaskier never notices the young princess going off to sword lessons with Vesemir or even Geralt settling down on the thick carpet next to him.</p><p>The witcher adjusts the blanket draped on Jaskier’s knees absent-mindedly. “By the way, Yen, what did you think of our ward?”</p><p>“It’d be a good idea.” The sorceress looks down at Geralt, posture elegant from the vantage point of the chair. Her hand flattens the folded wrinkles on her embroidered dress. “Don’t worry, Geralt. I’ll enhance it for you so no mage can get through. Your child will be safe in here.”</p><p>Geralt’s voice turns solemn. “Thank you, Yen. And thank you for coming.”</p><p>“I came for her.” Yennefer’s gaze studies Geralt up and down with a piercing curiosity and softens ever so slightly. “Fatherhood looks good on you.”</p><p>Geralt hums without answering.</p><p>“Did you ever doubt destiny’s decision?” Jaskier challenges her, regrettably drawing attention to himself.</p><p>Yennefer finally looks at Jaskier for the first time since she arrived, amusement creeping into her expression. Geralt sighs long-sufferingly next to Jaskier, braced for the usual snarky jabs between these two.</p><p>“Bard.”</p><p>“Witch.”</p><p>Yennefer raises an eyebrow. “The gray hairs suit you.”</p><p>“Not being tortured by Nilfgaard suits <em>you</em>.”</p><p>From his peripheral, Jaskier sees Geralt tense but keeps his eyes on the sorceress. Framed by the flickering candlelight, everything beautiful about her now is a sharp contrast to the last time Jaskier saw her – tied up, depleted of magic, and covered in blood.</p><p>Her lips curve dangerously. “Still saved your sorry ass, didn’t I?”</p><p>This time when Jaskier returns her smile, it’s genuine. “You are right about that one. I never got to show any gratitude.” Geralt’s questioning gaze is burning a hole on Jaskier, but he’ll have to wait. Jaskier continues the peace-offering. “So thank you, really. It’s good to see you again, Yen.”</p><p>“Don’t call me that.” She takes a jab at him but there’s no malice. “And destiny often makes shit decisions. You should know.”</p><p>Yennefer looks between the two of them and Jaskier’s breath hitches. Somehow the sorceress knows about their bond. Jaskier turns to look at an equally startled Geralt. “Did you tell her?”</p><p>“Oh, please,” She cuts in, “The temporal magic is all over you two. I felt it the day you first barged through my door.” She pulls a sealed letter out of nowhere and holds it before Jaskier’s face. “I only meant this.”</p><p>The Pankratz insignia carves into the scarlet wax seal.</p><p>The buzzing of the world drowns Jaskier’s heartbeat. It’s been years since he received news from home. Distantly, he knows Geralt is asking if he’s alright, the warmth from the witcher’s large hand seeps through the fabric on his back.</p><p>He reaches for the letter and tears through the seal in an instant, and pauses.</p><p>“You know what it says.”</p><p>“The news traveled faster than a letter.” Yennefer offers a tight smile. “My condolences, Jaskier.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier is perched on their shared bed while Geralt paces around the room. He clutches the thin piece of paper, reading the words again even if he’s stared at them for so long they’ve begun to blur.</p><p>
  <em>…Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, passed away in his sleep three days ago.</em>
</p><p>Taking a deep breath, Jaskier rubs his eyes when they lose focus, and that’s when he notices how stiff his joints are for staying in the same place for too long.</p><p>He blinks and Geralt has come to sit next to him on the mattress, gently prying the letter away from Jaskier’s tense fingers. His knuckles are turning white for gripping it so tightly.</p><p>“Hey, are you okay?”</p><p>Shaking his head, Jaskier buries his face in the crook of Geralt’s neck, who instinctively wraps an arm around him. “I don’t know.” He adds, “Not yet.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Geralt murmurs.</p><p>“Why?” Jaskier nuzzles, seeking comfort. “You never had kind words for the man.”</p><p>The pain from childhood flares up again. Memories of sitting by the lake crying and nursing his hurt as a child almost make panic bubble up Jaskier’s throat. He has to calm down by focusing on Geralt’s solid touch and the rise and fall of his breathing.</p><p>It does the trick, as always.</p><p>“You still mourn him, despite everything.” Geralt answers, drawing circles on Jaskier’s back slowly.</p><p>Jaskier lets out a tight chuckle. “I should hate him, and maybe I did for many years. But…in the end, he was just my father.”</p><p>They sit in silence. Jaskier melts into Geralt’s continued soothing touches, letting reality sink in. A plan comes together in his head.</p><p>“I should go back.”</p><p>“To Lettenhove?” The movement on Jaskier’s back stops.</p><p>When Jaskier pulls back, there’s apprehension in Geralt’s eyes. His brows furrow in distress so Jaskier eases it away with the pad of his thumb.</p><p>“I’m still the heir. There are things that require seeing to. I don’t want his title, so I’ll have to be there to renounce it. The estate and all the fortune will go to my cousin – Ferrant is quite a natural leader. He will do well being the head of the family. As for my mother, she’ll want to see me. It’s been too long since I wrote her.”</p><p>Geralt frowns again at the idea but reluctantly agrees after a moment.</p><p>“I don’t like the idea of you being back there.”</p><p>“Oh don’t you worry, my love,” Jaskier says. “It just got me thinking. My father died and they didn’t even have a way of reaching me. If Yennefer hadn’t come across this funeral invite at some random court I would still be in the dark. Not that I’ll be back in time for the funeral of course. It takes too many days just to get down this mountain. Still, it could be nice to see my family again. I’ll be fine, really.”</p><p>“Hmm.” Geralt runs his fingers through the hair at Jaskier’s temple, where he knows a strand is peppered with silver as Yennefer so kindly pointed out. “Speaking of. Since when are you best friends with Yen?”</p><p>“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Jaskier teases him. “I’m sure you’ll have all the time in the world to get the story out of her now that she’s around to give Ciri magic lessons. I’m sure she won’t paint me in a heroic light in our little Nilfgaardian prison adventure. Too bad I won’t be there to save my image.”</p><p>“Jask.” Geralt blinks, taking Jaskier’s wrist in a gentle hold. “You know I’m going with you, right? You are not going alone.”</p><p>“But Ciri’s training…”</p><p>“Yen is taking her to a safe house just outside of Novigrad. Triss will be there too. The chaos Ciri carries is raw power. It’s so complicated they’ll be lucky to figure it out within a couple of months.”</p><p>“Don’t you need to go as well? To stay with them and protect your daughter?”</p><p>Geralt smiles at the word <em>daughter</em>. No matter how many times everyone or even Ciri herself uses it, the word still brings him so much joy.</p><p>“I’ve had her all winter, taught her a lot about being a witcher. Now she needs to learn from real magic users. Besides, I think she’s getting tired of being cooped up with five men for this long. Staying with the ladies might do her good.”</p><p>Jaskier stares at the warmth flowing in those ember eyes, suddenly feeling lighter like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. He doesn’t have to do this alone.</p><p>“You’ll come with me,” he muses the sentence.</p><p>“You’re hurting, Jask. I would never leave you like this.” Geralt’s tone is so casual it’s like he’s stating the weather. Gods, this ridiculous man has no right to make Jaskier’s heart swell three sizes like this.</p><p>He picks up Geralt’s hand and presses a kiss to his calloused palm. “We’ll go straight to Novigrad soon as business finishes at home. Even I’ll miss her too much.”</p><p>Jaskier gets pull into Geralt’s embrace again, breathing in the smell of the chamomile soap he insists on the witcher during baths. It feels like Geralt is marked by him somehow, covered in his signature scent.</p><p>“I love you, Jask.”</p><p>“Mm-hmm. Enough to face all the nobles for me.”</p><p>Geralt hums, perhaps surprised.</p><p>“You know there’s gonna be a lot of them, right? Many will be there to pay respect. <em>I’m</em> a noble in case you forgot. If you can barely tolerate me, imagine the chaos when we get there.”</p><p>The laugh rumbles deep in Geralt’s chest, and soft lips press on Jaskier’s hairline at his temple.</p><p>“Only for you, Jaskier.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I planned this story to be 10k words but it just kept growing. Splitting it right here seems a reasonable choice. It already drew a temporary conclusion. If you stop reading now it should be fine by itself. </p><p>In the second part, the bard and the witcher will continue their journey while looking at their relationship in a new light. It should be up soon. I've decided to keep the chapters shorter in the future and maybe update more often.</p><p>A big thank you to everyone who has commented, left kudos or bookmarked! Your encouragements make my day and keep me going. Thanks for staying with me through it all! &lt;3&lt;3</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>You can find me on <a href="https://samstree.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a>.<br/>What did you think of this story? Feedbacks are much appreciated ;)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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